Trouble
by shxrlocked
Summary: After Hermione impulsively uses dark magick to travel back in time, she finds herself caught up in a whirlwind of friendship, fear, love and hate. She has to complete her wish for travelling back to 1944 before she can return to 1996, but the unclear definition of her desire proves to be quite troublesome... Especially with a young Dark Lord constantly watching over her.
1. Prologue

_"But I just thought... How can the devil be pulling you towards someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you?" ~ Taylor Swift, I Knew You Were Trouble._

~x~

Hermione opens her eyes. As soon as she does it she regrets doing so. Unconciousness is much better than what she is seeing, right now. Chaos. Complete and utter chaos. _Everything_ has gone wrong.

_"You were supposed to kill him."_ _A flash of Harry bellowing at her, his green eyes burning with rage, right before a Death Eater went to cast a deadly spell their way. He tackled her to the ground, saving them both from a flash of green. _

The school is in shattered ruins. Hogwarts - her home for six wonderful and terrifying and exhilarating years - is now mere rubble. A shadow of the castle that it once was. Bodies are everywhere, ranging from terrifying masked men to children in tattered shirts and robes. A thick fog of dark clouds hover in the sky. Everything feels so dreamlike. God, this is all _her_ fault.

"_You should join me, love. You'd make a brilliant queen." Another flash. This time, she is laid in Tom's arms and he is stroking her hair from her eyes. Their limbs are tangled so much so that she feels as though they are one. God, she loves him. Loves him so much her heart feels as though it is going to burst. She shakes her head and leans over to place a soft kiss to his lips._

She continues to walk away, staring blankly ahead. It hasn't hit her yet. She knows that this is all down to her but it still hasn't sunk in. She can see the bodies of Ron and Harry laid side-by-side. See Mrs Weasley crying as she begs for them to awaken. Feels the older woman's arms wrap tightly around her. But she doesn't hear a word that the only Weasley left says to her.

_That first fight pulls her in, burning bright. She was frozen with terror as she watched Tom torture that man. The vivid red his eyes shone as he called out crucio. The laughter, the manic cheers from his comrades. The panic that flooded through her as her hand itched towards her wand. Her subconcious had told her to end his life right then... But love stopped her. _

And look where that has got her. Look where she is now. Her best friend is dead, her boyfriend is dead... And Voldemort is now in control of the magical world.


	2. Lost In Time

_A thirteen-year-old Hermione Granger taps the tip of her inkless quill against her lower lip whilst scanning the various different titles of the books on Dumbledore's shelves. She was called out of her Charms class due to the fact that the headmaster of Hogwarts has 'urgent matters to discuss', yet she has been sat in his office very much alone for the past half an hour. Her lesson had been very interesting until it was interrupted, and as time passes by she begins to wonder just when she will be able to leave. _

_Time continues to tick by. Another fifteen minutes passes at a sluggish pace and there is still no sign of Dumbledore. She is beginning to suspect that this was all just a silly little prank... But how could it be if she was given the password to get up here? Her timid brown eyes glance around uneasily. Eventually, she begins to amuse herself by counting the sherbet lemons on Dumbledore's desk. She stands and begins to pace slightly, stopping at Fawkes' stand once in a while to give him a pet. Another ten minutes. Dumbledore is still nowhere to be seen. She becomes bolder; confident in the knowledge that he is not going to turn up any time soon, Hermione dares to start snooping around. She peers in to glass cabinets, oogles at wondrous artefacts and eventually begins peaking in to some of the drawers... And this causes her to stumble across a painting..._

_But this is no ordinary painting. She admires the image of the moody knight for a fleeting moment, but something is nagging her to push the picture aside. She does so, and all-too-suddenly a cloud of dust sweeps through the air, attacking the young witch's lungs and mouth. She coughs and splutters in response whilst waving her hands wildly in an attempt to get rid of it. It takes a while for her coughing to stop, but when the air is finally breathable once more she nervously glances at the... The gaping hole in the wall leading in to a room that is stacked with books. Hundreds, possibly even thousands... Her jaw drops open in awe. These are not just books - these are books that have been banned from the library. She can tell by the titles and the list of contents - everything within these works is either pure evil or too dangerous to attempt... But one particular book catches her eye, and she finds that she cannot resist its call. This book is written in Runes. She does not know the knowledge it holds within its pages, but something deep inside her tells her to take it. _

_And so she does._

~x~

Three years later, an older and much braver Hermione stares down at the book of Runes that she has just finished translating. It is August the thirty-first, meaning that it has taken the entirety of the summer holidays to translate the pages. She had almost forgotten about this book, but finding it at the bottom of her trunk has become quite possibly the greatest escapism she could possibly have. Since Voldemort's return was officialised the Order have been even harder at work (if that is even possible), and not being able to help them because of her age has really put the brightest witch of her age in a foul mood. After finding the book she hoped that she could discover something useful to contribute, but this book only instructs time travel...

She doesn't really know what she had been hoping for. A spell that reverses evil, maybe? She glares at the translation and releases a pent up sigh. Silly Hermione, thinking that she can help much more knowledgeable and powerful wizards. Oh well, at least it distracted her for a little while. Slowly and sulkily, she picks up the piece of parchment and rolls it up. Once both the book and parchment are tucked back in to a deep corner of her trunk she double-checks that she has everything for school and then takes a bath, allowing the warmth of the water to soothe her aching muscles. If only there was a giant bath of magic that could destroy Voldemort... She shakes her head. She must be going delirious - she blames her lack of sleep.

With her hair still damp and a white, fluffy dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, Hermione lays down on her bed and quickly falls asleep. She finds that, for the first time in months, she sleeps dreamlessly, and she goes to school the following day without any thought about her translation. Soon enough it lays as forgotten about as it was three years ago. It isn't until Dumbledore's death that, in a fit of hopeless despair and hatred, she realizes what she has to do.

It takes a lot to cause Hermione to break down. Oh, externally all seems well. She is the calm pool that people go to because they know that they can bathe their problems away, but on the inside she is panicking like no one else. What are they going to do without Dumbledore? He was the only being with the ability to protect Hogwarts from the clutches of Voldemort... And now he's dead. All due to a heartless betrayal. She hates Snape. She hates this predicament. She hates _Voldemort_.

"I want to kill him!" Hermione shrieks, causing Ron to jump, startled by her sudden outburst. He turns to his friend, who has now thrown herself out of her chair and began pacing the Gryffindor common room.

"Who, Hermione?" He asks, eyeing her with a fearful expression.

"Voldemort, of course!" She growls, glaring at him unnessessarily, "He ruins _everything_! Why does he have to be like this? Why does he want to _do _this?"

"Well, er, for a bit of power, I think," Ron shrugs, "Does it really matter? Point is he's doing it and we need to stop him."

That is when it hits her. She freezes in her tracks as one cog begins to turn, and then two, and soon a whole machine is working inside her brain until a completely insane smile spreads across her face. Ron is petrified by this point, but Hermione doesn't notice. She leans down and places a rough kiss to his lips, catching him completely by surprise.

"I have to go, Ron," She says, stroking the side of his face as she speaks, "And I don't know if I'm coming back. But I have to go."

"H-Hermione?" His response is dazed due to his shock, but his brain does eventually register what she just said, "What do you mean?"

"I need to stop him," She replies, already heading for the steps to the female dorms, "Do whatever you can to fight here. He'll be gone soon."

"What are you going to do?" He growls, leaping up from the chair he was sat in to race after her. "HERMIONE!" Ron bellows, reaching out in a flustered panic to stop her. He tries to grab her arm but his fingers merely brush over the material of her shirt and then she is already up the stairs. He attempts to follow, but they slant down in to a slide. He knew from previous experience that they would do this but it doesn't stop him from trying.

She can hear him crying her name from the common room, but she is running on pure hatred and adrenaline and nothing can stop her now. Lavendar is startled at Hermione's rapid appearance, but when she attempts to ask what she is doing Hermione ignores her. Instead she grabs the book and translation from her trunk and sits on her bed, reading them at such a rapid pace that her eyes blur.

"Granger, what are you _doing_?" Lavendar demands, "Stop ignoring me!"

But Hermione does ignore her, and Lavendar remains infuriated up until the point where her fellow Gryffindor begins chanting in a foreign language. Lavender's dopey eyes fill with concern, and when she speaks her name this time it is in a completely different tone.

"Hermione?" She squeaks, "'Mione? Granger, stop it! You're scaring me!" Lavendar knows after a few moments that she is not going to get through to her, so she races out of the room in search for help. But the only person downstairs is Ron - everyone else is outside, weeping over the loss of Dumbledore.

In the mean time, Hermione finds herself becoming lost in the spell she is casting. _The loss of a great wizard produces power. _That line was what came back to her whilst she was pacing downstairs. If she could channel that power much like the illegal book instructed then perhaps she could put an end to all of this before it began. The chanting that caused Lavendar concern was the first part of the spell - _channelling. _A warmth begins spreading through Hermione's toes, feet, ankles, straight up until even the roots of her hair are basking in a comfortable heat. She can feel the power crackling around her - the darkest form of power imaginable - and yet it feels so _brilliant_. She feels so... So _powerful_ and _content_.

The second part of the spell is _the binding_. This creates a bind between the wizard casting the spell and time, which brings on hypersensitivity - as she becomes one with something that, in scientific terms, does not truly exist, strange things begin to happen. She can _hear_ the dust motes dancing in the air, she can feel minuscule particles within her body moving around... And the warmth. The warmth burns: _scalds_. A piercing shriek fills the air that causes her to clasp her hands over her ears. The sound may be coming from her own lips. She doesn't know. She suddenly realizes what she is doing - casting the most illegal spell within the magical world, _WHAT IN THE WORLD IS SHE THINKING_? Her eyes snap open but her mouth is under the control of something else. It is too late. The magick has already taken over.

"Take me to Tom Marvolo Riddle's seventh year at Hogwarts!" She shrieks, "I have to stop him before he can start this!"

It works. It must, because the magick feels as though it is tearing her body and soul apart... Perhaps it is. Her throat is hurting from the screams escaping her lips. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is Lavendar racing back in to the room, her eyes wide with panic as she bellows out Hermione's name.


	3. Dumbledore

_The brightness of the low winter sun is painful_, Hermione concludes as she attempts to open her aching eyes. The witch then works on inhaling and exhaling; the pain that dances through her lungs at these movements causes her to frown. She darts her tongue out to wet her lips and slowly lifts her hands to at least get a feel for her surroundings. Soft quilts. She must be in her dorm... But why does she not remember going to bed? Whilst her body recuperates from whatever it has been through she thinks back. What is the last thing that she can remember?

She doesn't.

The first thing that she feels she has to do is panic, because Hermione Jean Granger _never_ forgets things. On the contrary, she has always had an excellent memory. She goes to open her eyes and attempt to sit up, but her head suddenly begins to throb with such a painful force that she cannot do anything except fall back down in to a lying position and hold back agonizing screams. What in Merlin's name _happened_ to her? _Please_, she begs nothing in particular, _I just want to remember. _But panicking is not going to help her out of this situation, is it? _No_, she admits in defeat, _I have to keep it together. I never lose my mind in times of crisis. I am the solid rock in predicaments such as this... Now, think back..._

A flash, as though someone has just taken a photo right in front of her, appears behind her closed lids. It is Dumbledore, lying dead on the grounds of the courtyard. Her whole body tenses up, and dread slowly trickles down her spine as she works to remember anything else... But what are they going to do now? Dumbledore was their only hope - the only one capable of protecting Hogwarts - and now he's dead! She can feel the pace of her breathing pick up its pace and shorten in lengths. _Don't panic, don't panic... Oh Godric, I'm panicking!_

Hermione finds herself spending a whole hour diluting her mood in to a neutral state, after that. The image of Dumbledore's dead body haunts her mind, but she has to push it aside until she can figure out how she got in to this painful mess in the first place. She feels as though she had been possessed by something... Dirty, like something else has _used _her body, somehow. Once she has managed to find a semi-calm state of mind she thinks back. _What happened after Dumbledore...? _She cannot bring herself to think the word, just in case she panics again, but the intent is there. _What happened?_

Another flash. She kissed Ron... She kissed Ron? Her stomach flutters uncontrollably, at that. _Why on Earth did I do that!? _But that is all she remembers. There is absolutely nothing to indicate how he reacted. _Oh Godric, save me..._ She has to spend another five minutes regulating her breathing and clinging on to the calmness she found previously before she tries to remember once more. The flashes become quicker as time passes by, and some even turn in to longer periods of time. Running up the stairs to her dormitory. Reading that book... The book... The book that she translated!

It finally hits her, upon remembering how she recklessly performed one of the spells in that book, what has happened. There was a warning attached underneath the time travel spell stating that _side effects will very well include: intense burning pain, the threat of changing the fate of time... _There were more, but she cannot remember them yet. Her head is throbbing too much, so she gives in for now. _There's plenty of time to figure out what is going on, _she decides as a sudden tiredness overtakes her. _Just one nap..._

~x~

When Hermione awakens next, she finds that the pain in her head has subsided and that she can quiet easily open her eyes, although it takes some time for them to adjust to her surroundings. She must have been out for a good while. After lying awake for half an hour she attempts to sit up; her muscles are still sore from the scalding sensation of life-altering time travel but at least she can use them now, which is a start. It turns out that she is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, dressed in an old-fashioned nightgown. Her Hogwarts uniform lays in a neatly folded pile in the chair beside her standard hospital bed. So she is not in the sixth-year dormitory, after all.

"Good morning, dear," An unfamiliar Matron says in a chirpy sort of voice. She is almost skipping over to Hermione's bedside with a tray of toast and water, "It's good to see that you're finally awake," Her vivid purple eyes and shocking blonde hair immediately draws the muggle-born witch to the conclusion that the Matron is a Metamorphmagus.

"Thank you," She rasps politely as the Matron-Metamorphmagus settles the tray down on a small, fold-able table in front of her. "Do you mind telling me how long I was unconscious for?"

"Of course!" The Matron beams as though Hermione has just told her something extremely exciting. _This woman is irritating... And very odd_, she concludes. "Well, you were brought in here on Saturday the first. You were out for a week straight, deary, and then you seemed to begin coming round but you were in and out of consciousness. It's a bloody good thing you woke up today, because if you hadn't by tomorrow we were planning on sending you to St. Mungos!"

"What date?" Hermione asks, and then pauses as she attempts to clear her unused throat, "What date was I..."

"Have a drink, deary!" The Matron says, and Hermione obeys. Once the water has wet her previously dry throat, she tries again.

"What date was I brought in here?"

"Hmm..." The Matron ponders that for a moment. The silence begins irritating Hermione further. "The first."

"The first of what?" She presses.

"Of December."

"What date?" Hermione shakes her head, "What _year_ is it?"

"Nineteen forty-four, of course. Really, dear, you haven't missed the new year. Did I not mention that you were out almost two _weeks_?"

It really worked, then. She did it. She performed one of the hardest and most illegal spells in magical history... She has travelled back in time. Not only has she done that, but she has broken the law of timetravel: _you must not be seen_. She needs to get out of here as fast as possible.

"Who else has seen me?" She asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Does anyone else know about my being here?" Hermione almost rolls her eyes, but restrains herself. As annoying as the woman is she _has_ kept her alive.

"Of course. You were found in a very... _Horrible _state. The girls in the sixth-year dormitory found you. Said you were laid unconcious on one of the beds and got help immediately - Professor Dumbledore was alerted and he brought you up here immediately."

"Ohhh," She groans, holding her head in her hands, "Was there a big scene?"

"What do you think?" She asks, turning her hair blue-and-bronze as she speaks, "Your fellow Gryffindors can be very nosey."

_What_? Hermione perks up at this. How does she know that she is in Gryffindor? Granted, Hermione had a Gryffindor uniform on, but it must differ to the one of this day and age.

"Do you know who I am?" She questions the nurse, who is quick to look offended.

"Of course I do!" She snaps, "I've been treating you for nearly two weeks, Miss Granger!"

_Ohh no_. Hermione feels as though an ice-cold bucket of water has just been tipped over her head. _How can she possibly know? I never wrote anything down... Did I? Where has my book and translation gone?_

"Please may I speak to Professor Dumbledore?" She pleads, trying her very hardest to _not_ break in to floods of tears.

"He told me to alert him as soon as you awoke," She replies, "He is teaching right now, but he should be here soon. I'll leave you to eat your toast - you've not had a proper meal in a long while, it's going to take some time to get you back on to full meals. I'm afraid we're going to have to keep you until we are sure you are fit and healthy again."

_Oh, for Godric's sake!_ She internally curses. _Why on Earth_ _did I deem it necessary to come here? This is, by far, the worst mistake I have ever made. _Despite the sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, Hermione forces herself to eat her toast. If she can persuade the Matron that she is perfectly fine then perhaps she can get out of here A.S.A.P and then figure out how to get home.

Forty-five minutes pass by before Dumbledore finally shows up. Hermione doesn't know what she was expecting, but seeing a younger version of the elderly Headmaster with a much shorter black/grey beard and haircut was not something she had expected. His beard is merely a few inches long, and his hair falls down to his jawline. The one comfort she finds in everything is that he is still wearing the same starry robes and pointed hat, and the twinkle in his bright blue eyes is still prominent. A stab of grief jabs in to her as the image of his future self lying dead flashes before her eyes, but she pushes it away before she can show any visible reactions and forces a polite smile to her face.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," He says in his serene, comforting voice, "It is nice to see you're well."

"Yes, thank you, Sir," Hermione says. After a moment of eye contact, Dumbledore turns to the Matron.

"Madam Purpentine, would you be as so kind as to give us a moment alone?"

"Of course, Professor. If you need me I'll be in my office."

Hermione watches the Matron - Madam Purpentine - disappear in to said office and then turns to Dumbledore with a questioning gaze.

"You know who I am too," She states.

"Your name was written on the parchment inside of that book," He replies, holding up the novel of which he speaks. The twinkle disappears from his eyes as he now glares down at her, "Miss Granger, do you _realize_ what you have done? It has taken an _extremely large_ memory charm to add you in to the lives of the students and teachers within the school. Not only that, but you came here using _illegal_ means..." He glances at her uniform, "This is not something that I would expect from a fellow Gryffindor, Miss Granger. I am not, at all, impressed."

Shame causes Hermione to turn bright red under his scrutinizing gaze. What would he say if she told him that she had used the mark of his death to channel such illegal forces? She is sure that he would be far worse than unimpressed.

"I know what I have done," She replies in a timid voice, "But, see, it was necessary at the time-"

"The magicks of which you have used are _never_ necessary!" He growls, "They are linked to the founder of the Dark Arts, himself, and if you could perform such a spell then I am sure in my presumption that you_ knew_ of this!"

"But you don't understand!" She wails, cursing herself as tears begin to flood her eyes, "Things were happening to the people I care about - I had to put a stop to it! Oh, I know I was stupid, I should have never reacted so suddenly. I didn't think about what I was doing, I just did it, and by the time I had realized what I was doing the magicks would not let me stop! But please, Professor, I _must_ go home. This was a mistake!"

"You cannot just leave now!" He barks, "You know this! You must perform what you asked time to let you do before you can leave!"

Hermione can tell that Dumbledore is infuriated. She has never seen him so _angry_, which only adds insult to her shame. She hides her face in her hands for a moment as she attempts to stop crying. The only sounds, for a good ten minutes or so, are Dumbledore's footsteps and Hermione's occasional sniffle. It seems that he pondered the situation during those tense moments of silence, because when he speaks again it is, once more, in his usual tone of serenity.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," He sighs, running a hand through his scraggly, discoloured hair, "I should not have allowed myself to perform such an outburst. But what you have done is very serious... At the same time, I would never allow myself to turn you in to the Aurors. I feel that would be much too cruel for a girl of your age, and if someone with such intelligence to cast this spell felt they _had_ to do it then there must be a very good reason. Please, will you explain it to me?"

She knows about the risks and the consequences of telling somebody in the past about the future, but what else can she do? So, Hermione begins to explain the basics: a powerful wizard who was protecting the school from a serious threat had died, and everyone had began to panic. Students were fleeing the grounds, people were breaking down and she didn't know what to do. She had found the book many years before and had translated it in the summer holidays as a way of escaping her fearful thoughts, but she ended up casting the spell in a fit of panic and despair as even she did not know what to do.

"And here I am," She gestures to the Infirmary around them, "Now one of the most deviant criminals in the wizarding world. Would you believe that my reasoning for casting one of the most darkest spells in history is because I want to _destroy_ evil?"

"Anyone else would say no, but I believe you," Dumbledore smiles at her and, although it is still strained, the twinkle in his eyes has returned.

"Thank Merlin," She breathes a sigh of relief.

"I would like to help you, Miss Granger, but I am afraid that I can only do so much. You must not tell me of your mission here, but please do come to me if you need anything else."

"I will. Thank you, Professor."

"Please, call me Dumbledore."

Another moment of silence passes between them, and Hermione finds her head flooding with questions.

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes?"

"You said you performed a memory charm..."

"Oh, yes! Yes. You are known by your usual name of Hermione Granger, here. You are a sixth-year Gryffindor and your friends are Augusta and Ignatius Prewett, both are in their seventh year, and Rubeus Hagrid who is the half-giant trainee groundskeeper of the school..." He notices Hermione's bewildered expression and pulls out his wand from his pockets, "Would you like me to place the charm on you, too? It will not obliviate any of your memories from the future, but merely add the memories of the past in to your mind."

"Please do," She nods, smiling gratefully at him as she closes her eyes.

"Ricordiate," Dumbledore calls, flourishing his wand before pointing it at Hermione. Once she feels the tingling sensation of his magic in her mind disappear she opens her eyes. "There, once you wake up tomorrow morning you will know everyone who you need to know. It will be as though you have grown up with them from their first year onwards. Despite this, you will be fully aware that I inserted these memories due to this very conversation. You will know that your reality is not here but in..."

"Nineteen ninety-six," She finishes. He nods at her and she smiles back, "Thank you, Dumbledore."

"You're welcome... I hope that you are successful with achieving your goals, Miss Granger. I will see you in Monday's Transfiguration lesson, I hope?"

"Oh, wait!" She calls, realizing a flaw in the plan. "Sorry, but would you be able to transfer me in to seventh year? I know that I haven't finished my sixth year yet but I have already studied everything that I will need to know. Please, it will really help."

Dumbledore sighs heavily but nods.

"Very well, but I cannot alter the memory charm, now. I will speak with Headmaster Dippet and have him see to it that you are moved in to the seventh year... Your grades in this time are perfect, so I cannot see there being any problems with that."

Hermione beams in response, "Thank you so, so much!"

With that, Dumbledore bids Hermione farewell and wishes her a speedy recovery. She notices that he has left the book and roll of parchment on top of her uniform. Hermione is smart enough to know that, if she stands immediately, she will pass out (due to how long she has been laid down) so she picks up her wand that has been placed on her nightstand and _accios_ the objects to her. Hopefully she can find something useful... But after ten minutes of searching, the memory charm that Dumbledore cast begins to kick in. Hermione has just enough time to hide the objects under her pillow before falling back in to the world of dreams.

~x~

On the night of Monday the seventeenth of December, Hermione is finally deemed fit enough to leave the Infirmary. She gratefully races away from that dreadful, lonely place and prays to whatever lord is out there that she _never_ has to go back. Being coddled has never really been something that Hermione has enjoyed, not since she was by Mrs. Cole back at the orphana- no, she means her parents. Because she never really grew up in Wool's Orphanage. It's quite strange, really. Despite knowing that she grew up later in this century, she also feels like she grew up here - almost as though she has lead a double life. She knows her real parents are very much alive, but she also feels the devastation of knowing that her parents from this time are dead. She has found herself crying during the loneliest of nights, wishing that they were still alive. Wishing that she had got the chance to really meet them. But she has. She _grew up_ with them... It's odd.

Hermione has decided that Dumbledore _must_ have guessed that her ambition has something to do with Tom Riddle; why else would he have chosen for her the upbringing of which she has received? Indeed she would have most likely have been brought up in an orphanage anyway - because she has never had parents here, because she does not really _exist_ here - so why else would the Transfiguration Professor have chosen the exact orphanage that Lord Voldemort himself had grown up in for her to have grown up in, too? It is baffling; having memories of a place that you have never been before. The orphanage is a square building that has been surrounded by high railings. It is quite run-down, but very clean, and all of the orphans are very well cared for. They even have holidays, sometimes, at the seaside or in to forests where they have camping trips. Hermione prefers to stay at Hogwarts whenever she can but she doesn't mind going back to the orphanage. In fact, she quite enjoys helping Mrs Cole and Martha with the younger children.

Tom, on the other hand, despises the place. Hermione has never really spoken to him, but she can tell from the flash of red that enters his eyes whenever they pull up outside of the place that he loathes being there. She feels for him, really, because she understands that it can be upsetting - not knowing your parents. She understands. But at the same time she is angry at him for being so cruel to the other children, not appreciating that the workers are extremely kind and... Well, that must be the part of her that_ doesn't_ understand, because in reality she does have parents. Parents who love her very much, and Tom has never had that before.

The young witch shakes her head as she mutters the password to the Gryffindor's 'Fat Lady' painting. She knows that all of these false memories will be helpful, because now she _truly_ knows Lord Voldemort... But she never really considered how dangerous that could be because not only does she know him, but he also knows her. Her strengths, her weaknesses .. They grew up together, and whether you speak to someone or not you still see how they act, what they like and dislike and what trouble they get into. Hermione cringes as she remembers poor Amy and Dennis who were frightened in to silence, back in their childhood days. Neither one has spoken since.

"Hermione!" Augusta Prewett, a medium-height, black-haired girl with looks akin to Neville Longbottom yells. This is one of Hermione's best friends in her house of Godric Gryffindor. 'Aggie' may be too talkative for Hermione to bear a lot of the time, but her loyalty and determination are two very fine qualities that the brightest witch of her generation cannot help but admire. Also, behind her mask of a 'bubbly young girl' lies a remarkably intelligent woman. Sometimes, when they are lost in discussion, Hermione can even admit that her part of the debate was _wrong_.

"Hi, everyone," Hermione replies, walking over to hug Augusta and then Ignatius Prewett, the same-age cousin of Augusta who shares the blue-eyes of the Weasley family. From what Hermione can remember, Ignatius is the uncle of Molly Weasley and, in turn, the great-uncle of Ron. His soft blue eyes remind her so much of Ronald that she has to look away from him as soon as their embrace ends. She has not had any contact with Ron or Harry for two weeks now, due to obvious reasons, and she misses them more than she can bear. "Have I missed much, then?"

Everyone has been put under the impression that Hermione had suffered a concussion after tripping and hitting her head on one of the posts of her bed, so she does not have to worry about explaining what happened. Ignatius immediately jumps in to an explanation of the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match that he played bludger in after Sean Finnigan was hexed and bed-ridden by Mulciber and Malfoy. It is quite freightening how much Abraxas Malfoy looks like his future son, Lucius. When Hermione first encounters him in the school hallway on Tuesday - her first _real_ day at the Hogwarts school of 1944 - she almost questions whether or not she brought Lucius _with_ her. Aside from his shorter, slicked back hair and his younger appearance the pair of them could be _twins_.

Meeting the youthful ancestors of the people she knows in her present - or future - days is a very interesting experience to say the least. She cannot say whether the Death Eaters - or the 'Knights', as they were called in this time - of Lord Voldemort look like their heirs as the majority of them wore masks, but if you asked Hermione to pick out the people she thought were related to her friends and classmates in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw she most definitely would get eighty percent correct. What interests Hermione the most, though, is just how popular she is. Top female in their classes, Head Girl, doted on by many... She really has it all, here. And, as Tuesday progresses, she finds herself actually enjoying it. The seventh year lessons are perfect for her, too. Challenging but not too much - she still has all the answers, and her Professors expected nothing less.

But this joy is soon frozen as she enters her Potions lesson - the first lesson that she has to share with the Slytherins in 1944.


	4. Potions

This Potions classroom is quiet different to Hermione's classroom in the nineties. The room is squared and very large with big tables and no windows at all. It is quite simple, really. In the corner of the room a stone basin that Hermione remembers no longer works in her time can be used to wash students' hands and ladles, and there is a door behind Slughorn's desk leading in to his supply cupboard, but that is pretty much all there is to it. Slughorn is a lot younger, slightly thinner and has more hair than he did in the nineties, but he is still the same slimey teacher he was in her day and age; attempting to scrounge off of any student that he believes has true talent.

"Ah, Miss Granger," He bellows merrily as she enters the room, arriving slightly early due to the class being let out of Care of Magical Creatures a little bit earlier than usual. She smiles politely at him.

"Good afternoon, Professor Slughorn. Did Professor Dippet-?"

"Ahh, not Dippet. Dumbledore came to speak to me about your movement in to the seventh year," His eyes twinkle with pride, "This is excellent, my dear. Excellent indeed. I truly believe that you will excell much faster now that you are in a class of your _true_ standard."

"Thank you, Professor," She beams, immensely complimented by his words.

"Now, you take a seat here," He pats his hand on the chair of which he speaks. The desks in the room are laid out so that two students sit at each. She nods her head and walks over to her designated place and then sits down, waiting for the others to arrive. There are still five minutes left, so whilst Slughorn finishes setting up for what Hermione presumes is a lesson on the Polyjuice Potion she considers how she is going to 'achieve her goal' and get back home.

_'I have to stop him before he can start this!' _Were Hermione's exact words. She had meant _kill _though... Could she still do that? She was so angry at the time she had cast that foul spell that she had genuinely wanted to Avada Kedavra him herself... But these memories prove to be troublesome, because whenever she considers killing Tom all she can see is those wide, terrified grey eyes as the horrible relative of Mrs Cole beat him to the ground. The worry and fear for his life. The shock as she boldly grabbed the man's leg and attempted to bite him so that he would stop. The man had let out a pained scream at that, and then fell unconscious to the ground. His leg had inflamed remarkably and, until Hermione was told that she's a witch, she had never understood what had caused something as drastic as that.

At seven years old, Hermione Granger had (possibly) saved Tom Riddle's life. _But_, the 1996 part of her memory argues, _I didn't really. Dumbledore instilled that memory into me... But why? _Why on Earth _did _Albus Dumbledore want Hermione to feel remorse for Riddle? Why did he not just have her despise him in this era, too? _Because_, the 1944 part argues, _another part of you already does._

When Hermione exits her own confused thoughts she notices that students have already began to enter the room and take their seats. Augusta takes her seat at the other side of the room and sends a quick wave Hermione's way, to which Hermione smiles back. The muggle-born witch then turns to the doorway to give Ignatius a greeting upon his arrival, but her eyes instead meet those of the one person she has been most anxious to meet.

Familiarity floods through her. She has known him for years, according to her installed memories. But something else, too, on par with her 1996 memories. He gives her a small, polite smile as he draws out his chair to sit beside her, and his closeness suddenly has her wanting to go sit in the chair beside Augusta that has now been occupied by Lucretia Black. The feeling is unease... Yes, he is going to be Lord Voldemort, but Hermione has always felt so normal around Tom. Her 1944 side is confused and angry at the changes that have been caused - she grew up with this boy, yet she has this sudden urge to run from the room and never inhabit the same place as Tom ever again, which battles with the feelings of familiarity she holds for him. She could never be friends with this boy after seeing everything that he has done, but she has never been afraid of him either... But now...

"Now, now, everyone, please gather round," Slughorn bellows, and for a moment all that can be heard is the scraping of chairs as the seventh-year students make their way over to the cauldron their Potions teacher has set up. "You will have to pay attention, today, as the potion that I am about to show you is _not_ easy to brew... I wonder, can anyone tell me anything about the Polyjuice Potion?"

No hands raise but two - Hermione's and Tom's. She notices the look of surprise that flits through his eyes from the corner of her own as he glances at her, but she continues to look at Slughorn.

"Miss Granger?"

"The Polyjuice Potion is very complicated to produce, as you have already stated. It allows the drinker to assume the form of somebody else, usually for a short period of time but one can continue drinking it to remain in their chosen form." Barty Crouch Jr enters the forfront of her mind; he had spent almost a whole year as Alastor Moody, during her fourth year. "While it works for changes of both age and gender perfectly fine, Polyjuice Potion cannot be used for a human to take an animal form, and that goes for half-breeds wanting to assume a human form, and vice versa."

"_Excellent_!" Slughorn beams, "_Fifteen_ points to Gryffindor!"

Once Slughorn has finished demonstrating how to brew the first part of the potion he sends the students off to discuss how they are going to do this as, due to the advanced nature of this potion, they must work with their seating partner. After Hermione has sat down she pulls out some parchment, picks up her quill and turns to Tom.

"So," Hermione murmurs, cursing the nerves that are evident in her voice, "Happened to have brewed a Polyjuice Potion before?"

"Of course not," He replies calmly, but his eyes narrow suspiciously, "Why would I have?"

"Just... I, er, well you're talented enough to, from what I've heard," She stammers, realizing with exasperation that the two seperate memories of Riddle are quite possibly going to merge in to one when she acts like a _bumbling_ _fool_. This could be highly problematic considering that, if she ends up mentioning the future, she could desrupt the entire timeline. Just her presense here is doing enough of that as it is.

"Being spying on me have we, Granger?" He asks, picking up his own quill before proceeding to write _Polyjuice Potion _in neat, joined-up writing. She feels her cheeks flush furiously at that accusation, but what can she say to it? _No, actually, I am from the future?_

"Of _course_ not," She huffs haughtily, "Professor Slughorn was telling me all about you before the lesson. I arrived early," She lies smoothly.

"Hmm," He chuckles, "Slughorn is a show-off. He really prides himself on collecting 'student trophies...'" His eyes remain on hers for a moment, as though he is going to say something else, but then he turns back to the parchment and admires the chalk board. "Have you?"

"Have I what?" She questions, which earns a roll of the eyes from Tom.

"Have you produced the Polyjuice Potion before?"

"Certainly not," She mutters, and then pretends to write something else down to avoid meeting his eyes. _Great_, she curses internally, _He probably thinks that I've used Polyjuice Potion to spy on him or something, the arrogant git._

They spend the remainder of the lesson strictly sticking to a detailed discussion on how they will brew the Polyjuice Potion and, surprisingly enough, it goes quite smoothly. The pair of them agree that Hermione can stew the lacewing flies whilst Tom will collect the sixteen scruples of Fluxweed that must be picked on the night of the full moon. This will be during the Christmas holidays. Seeing as the pair of them are some of the few that annually stay behind for Christmas they will have this advantage over their fellow class members, who will have to wait for the January full moon before they can start their potions. Hermione bids farewell to Tom once the lesson is over and waits outside the classroom for Ignatius and Augusta. Since the school day has officially ended, they decide to head to their favourite spot in the library until dinner.

"So, you were getting along with Riddle fairly well," Augusta comments whilst she falls down in to one of the beanbags beside the large, circular window that overlooks the Black Lake. She immediately reaches a pale hand in to her schoolbag and pulls out her copy of _Advanced Potions Making_ whilst Ignatius merely settles down beside her and closes his eyes.

"Well, we've never exactly had screeching matches down the corridors," Hermione grins, pulling out her book on time travel. Luckily the brown, hard-back cover is void of words - her friends will not have a clue what she is reading. She settles her translation inbetween the pages for concealment and begins flicking through them, looking for any clues on how to achieve this 'goal'.

"You're not exactly pally with one another either," Ignatius adds, "Actually, I've heard he's not very fond of muggle-borns at all."

"I've heard him throw around the word mudblood at times," Augusta adds, glaring at her own book as though it is Riddle, "I have a bad feeling about that boy. He's certainly prejudice. I can't stand people like him."

"Well, you're going to get them in life," Ignatius sighs, "Luckily for you you're a pureblood."

"Yeah, yeah," Augusta rolls her eyes and then raises her eyebrows at him cousin, "And so is someone _else_ around here, dear cousin."

"Riddle's not, though," Ignatius frowns, "But I wouldn't be stupid enough to remind him of that. I quite like having limbs."

"That's the one thing I don't _understand_ about him - he's a half-blood. And what does it even matter anyway?" Augusta releases an exasperated sigh that sounds more like a growl than anything else, "Some of the most powerful witches and wizards in history were muggle-born. Doesn't that _prove_ that heritage isn't everything? I mean, look at the Malfoys," She snickers, "Abraxas doesn't seem to know which ways top of his wand, sometimes, and they're as controversially pure-blooded as you can get."

Hermione is instantly reminded of the time that Malfoy, who is in the year below her now that she has been moved in to seventh-year, ended up using Ridikkulus on a Boggart only to be hit with the spell himself as he was holding his wand the wrong way round. What a laugh it had been to see him turn in to a ferret before her very eyes. Hermione is not only laughing at this memory, though, but also at the time that Draco was similarly turned in to a ferret by Barty Crouch Jr. The image of two Malfoys in so much distress has her tearing up and doubling over with laughter. She explains what happened in their D.A.D.A lesson a couple of years back to her two friends and, soon enough, the trio are attempting to regain control after a _huge_ laughing fit. She wishes that she could mention that a future Malfoy will go through the same thing, it makes the whole thing that much more amusing.

"It'd be great to see Riddle do something like that, but he's just too _good_," Ignatius sighs, but then smiles deviously, "I'd love to introduce him to embarrassment, though. He seems to be the only student in the year that hasn't suffered any unfortunate incidents with magic."

"It's probably one of the _many_ reasons why Slughorn likes him so much," Augusta adds.

"Well, it's hardly like Slughorn doesn't have any other favourites. Augusta, we're both part of the Slug Club, remember?" Hermione reminds her.

"Unfortunately," She grimaces, "Sitting with a bunch of Slytherins for hours isn't my preferred time killer."

"Hmm, it doesn't 'kill' time at all. _I_, for one, feel like time freezes _completely _when we're around that lot," Hermione sighs before loosing herself in her translation. Augusta and Ignatius have found it upon themselves to fall on to the topic of Quidditch anyway, so it is hardly like the conversation holds any interest to her. Two whole hours pass by before they are being ushered out by the librarian and Hermione is yet to find something to guide her towards achieving her goal. She considers going to ask Dumbledore where he would start, but once she remembers that he told her that she would have to do this on her own she rules that out. Put out, but not entirely defeated, she decides that tomorrow she will go to the Room of Requirement and search for something there.

~x~

So, early on during the following morning, Hermione tells Ignatius and Augusta that she is 'off to see Professor Merrythought' before proceeding to the seventh floor hallway, which is - thankfully - void of any students or teachers. She walks past the place she knows the door to the Room of Requirement appears and asks: _Please? I need a clue as to how I can get home_. After the third pace she stops and watches the wall expectantly. Slowly, it begins to morph; where there was just moments ago nothing but stone there is now a tall, dark arched doorway. The witch takes one more peak around to ensure that no one is there and then steps in to the room.

Disappointment scalds and crushes her moment of hope upon realizing that the room that has appeared is the Room of Hidden Things. She had thought that perhaps it would conjure up a room of time travel books or maybe just one piece of parchment with strict instructions on _how to complete your mission and return home_. She had thought that by doing this she was being smart... But it makes sense, now. It makes sense. The knowledge of which Hermione seeks is hidden and no room is going to provide it for her. Suddenly, Dumbledore's words return to the forefront of her mind: _"I would like to help you, Miss Granger, but I am afraid that I can only do so much."_ Could the room be doing the same thing? Could it be presenting her with something but hiding it so that she has to do the work on her own? She draws her wand.

"Accio clue!"

Nothing happens. She had not really expected it to, but it was worth a try... She lifts her eyes from the tip of her wand to the mountainious stacks surrounding her and feels her hope sink further. It is going to take _months_ to look through everything in here! If she is going to search through this place she just _has_ to find help... But even with Dumbledore this would take too long, and she has to do this alone.

"Oh, Merlin," She groans, "I'm never getting out of here."

So Hermione leaves the room with a heavy lump in her throat. How is she going to do this? Why did she cast this stupid spell in the first place? How idiotic of her: performing one of the most dangerous and illegal spells in history... And for what? To turn around and say _I want to go home_. She suddenly feels pathetic. Like a spoilt brat. _I deserve to be stuck here._

"Granger?"

A smooth, deep voice grabs Hermione's attention. She tilts her head up to get a look at the person who just spoke. It's Alphard Black; a tall, pitch-black haired Slytherin with boyish looks and a wolfish smile. She notices the Potions book in his hand and his disgruntled expression and immediately realizes that he is up to no good. She glowers at the Slytherin.

"Alphie," She speaks with a disappointed tone, "You're not going to do what I _think_ you're going to do, are you?"

"N-No," He stammers, but the slight blush in his cheeks tells her otherwise.

"_Tsk, tsk. _You know you can't lie to me. Accio book," With a lazy flick of her wand the book flies in to her hands. The title _Moste Potente Potions_ has her shaking her head at him, "Really, you think I can't read you? What's he got you doing now?"

"I hoped you'd stop trying to find out," He grumbles deafeatedly, "C'mon, 'Mione. Just give us the book, Riddle's asked me to do something for him and you _know_ how he gets when you disobey him."

"What does he want you to do?"

He shifts his weight uncomfortably and clears his throat.

"It's private."

"_Alphard_."

"Hermy, _please_."

"Alphard Black you will bloody well tell me what you're up to before I hex your sorry arse in to next Tuesday!"

"_Fine_!" He growls, holding up his hands in defeat, "He wants a potion brewing. We tried stealing it from Slughorn's stash but he's ran out. Since I'm the best in the group at potions brewing beside Tom himself he's asked me to brew it for him."

"What potion?"

"Oh for _Salazar's sake, _Hermione-"

"_Alph!_"

"Veritaserum!" He snaps angrily, "He wants me to make Veritaserum."

"_Veritaserum?_"

"Really, Hermione. I reckon you heard me the first time," Alphard replies, tutting at her... But, despite her round of 'twenty questions' his tone of voice has taken on a gentler, joking edge.

"Oh shush," She waves her hand at him dismissively. A moments silence passes between them, and then Alphard holds out one of his large, pale hands.

"Can I have the book back now or...?"

"Certainly not!" The Gryffindor scoffs, "I'm not letting Riddle get a hold of Veritaserum. I've heard the rumours, Alph. He's dangerous enough without it."

"Yeah, yeah," It's Alphard's turn to dismiss her, "Well, it's not your arse on the line is it?"

"Well, if I keep this then technically it is," She replies in an annoying matter-of-fact tone that has the Slytherin glowering at her.

"Whatever." He turns to stomp away. Hermione watches him leave and smiles at her success... Until she feels an invisible force snatch the book from her hands. Alphard turns and captures it with reflexes only a Quidditch player could possess. Before Hermione has time to react he puts an anti-stealing charm on the book and beams at her, "See you around, Herm."

"Ugh, for Goodness sake, Alphard! I was trying to help you, but if you want to be silly about this then _fine_!" She snaps angrily, and when she hears his amused chuckle echo throughout the hallway her anger multiplies. It is not until he is gone that she remembers... Remembers that she has never really met this boy before. But, _Godric_, she feels so close to him. She could even go as far as to say that she has a _crush_ on that boy... That she had momentarily forgotten that this is not really her life.

_Ok_, Hermione inhales slowly and deeply whilst attempting to regain her composure, _I have to carry on looking. I must get out of here. Now._

She turns around and asks for the doorway to the Room of Requirement again, and seconds later it re-appears. She rushes inside and instantly heads to the first pile. She spends four hours searching it thoroughly - when she finally does admit defeat she is sweating profusely, her hair is as bushy as a Dragon's nest and her hands are sore from digging through various dangerous objects. Of course, her mood is not lightened by the fact that she has missed over half of today's lessons whilst looking for... Well, whatever she only _thinks_ will help her get back home. Upon realizing what she has just wasted a day on the witch lets out a screech of built-up anger.

"WHY DO I KEEP ON DOING THIS?" She shrieks, falling to her knees and holding her bushy head of hair in her hands. Tears begin to prickle and pool in her anguished brown eyes, "SO STUPID, SO IMPULSIVE! GET A GRIP, HERMIONE!"

She stays like that for a moment; just allowing herself to release some of her pent-up frustration through sobs and tears. When the self-hatred and rage subsides enough for her to regain control she rises from the ground and dusts off her clothes. _I could always tell my teachers that I felt ill again. I'll get Dumbledore to write me a note._ So, instead of going to the rest of her lessons, Hermione casts a quick disillusionment charm on herself so that she can sneak back up to the Gryffindor common room. Who knows? Perhaps she'll find something that she missed in that damn book. For the first time in her life, Hermione Jean Granger finds herself wishing that she _had_ missed something the first three times of reading a book.

_What in the world is happening to me?_

* * *

_A/N: my apologies for any spelling mistakes, I have to use word pad until I can get Microsoft word & it doesn't have spell check. :(_


	5. Revelio

For the remainder of the week Hermione still remains at loss as to what she can do to return home. To make things worse Alphard has been avoiding her _and _she has a sneaky feeling that Tom has an ulterior motive when it comes to being nice to her. It's not that he has never been nice to her before... It's just that he has always done something mean afterwards, and that has _always_ occurred not too shortly after him being nice in the first place. He has been overly friendly to her for almost a week, now, so Hermione _definitely _suspects that something is wrong. The book of _Spells Moste Unentertained _by Herpo the Foul suddenly feels heavier in her arms. She had been surprised, at first, upon realizing that a book like this was stored in merely the restricted section of the library... But then she remembered that Lord Voldemort has not come out in the open yet, so students are still a lot less restrained when it comes to information accessibility. Once the Gryffindor reaches her desired destination of the library she takes a seat in her favourite beanbag and picks up where she left off, feeling at a loss now that all of her friends have returned home for the holidays.

Only five students, as far as Hermione knows, choose to stay behind during these holidays - Yeilah Sykes, a reserved fourth-year Hufflepuff, Elphinstone Urquart, a fourth-year Gryffindor, Lucretia Black, who hates spending her least favourite holiday of the year with her 'over the top' family, Tom Riddle and herself. Hermione saw Yeilah and Urquart sat together during breakfast this morning, so they must be close, but Lucretia had been glancing at Tom every so often with a loathing expression. Seems like the prettiest girl in the school isn't very in to her male counterpart. Hermione smirks at the memory of meeting Lucretia's eyes and giving her a knowing look, to which Lucretia had smiled back. Hermione has already made it a priority to spend some time with Lucretia later on in the day; she may not be one for parties but she doesn't exactly like being locked away from contact, either. They share some similarities that way.

One hour later, Hermione is slamming the old book to a close with a heavy, exasperated sigh. Reading all of those vomit-inducing jinxes and hexes was a waste of time after all, because if one of Tom's favourite Dark Arts practitioners had not included anything about time travel in this book then where...?

_Of course! _She grins as the idea strikes her, _I can ask Riddle! _

"Hi, Gee," Lucretia murmurs, falling on to a beanbag beside her. Hermione must have been lost in thought to not have noticed the Slytherin approaching. She tilts her head to the side and smiles.

"'Morning, Luce. I presume that everyone's gone, now?"

"Yep," She grimaces, "My least favourite time of the year is this stupid holiday."

"At least you have a home to go to. Really, I don't understand why you don't just go back. I am sure your parents would be happy to celebrate with you."

"You couldn't pay me all the galleons in the world to go home for Christmas! You haven't _seen_ them. Trust me, if you had my parents you'd be happy you're an orphan." _This_ is one downside of hanging around Lucretia. She doesn't really _think_ before she says something that could possibly offend you. One of her dainty, pale hands hits against her forehead instantly as she realizes what she just said. "_Merlin, _I'm sorry! I did it again, didn't I?"

"Kind of," As much as the words did sting Hermione is not _really_ an orphan, so she just waves her comment off with a giggle, "Don't worry yourself over it too much. You can make it up to me with a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow."

"Cheeky," Lucretia scoffs.

"And a liquorice wand. Oh, and if you're feeling particularly generous-"

"Shut it, Granger, before I shove that book of yours down your throat."

But Lucretia does buy _everything_ for Hermione the following day. Sundays are always the quietest days in Hogsmeade, but the girls are still surprised at how quiet it is just one day before Christmas. They begin by having a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, where Lucretia demands that Hermione spends Christmas Eve with her in the Slytherin Dorms. After finally getting the Gryffindor to agree they go to Honeydukes and buy all of the sweets they desire for their sleepover, and then they split up for half an hour or so. Hermione makes her way to Tomes and Scrolls to buy some more books that may prove to be helpful whilst Lucretia momentarily heads off to Godric-knows where. During this time Hermione uses the three galleons that she found on the floor outside of Honeydukes to buy Lukeus d'Eath's latest album from Dominic Maestro's shop as a small gift for Lucretia. They finally meet up once again outside the Inn that they started their trip at and then catch a thestral-drawn carriage back to the Castle. By the time they get back it's almost time for dinner, so they quickly make their way up to the Gryffindor common room (which Lucretia calls hideous) and grab Hermione's overnight things before taking everything that they have bought down to the Slytherin common room.

"Pumpkin Pasties," Lucretia calls out to a large, dark wall once they reach the dungeons. Much like the door to the Room of Requirement, the door to the Slytherin common room slowly takes the place of the wall and the two seventh-years enter. This common room is a dungeon, really, with greenish lamps and chairs decorating the place. The room extends partway under the lake, which gives the light in the room a greenish tinge. There are quite a few low backed black and dark green leather sofas with buttons, skulls, and dark wood cupboards. Hermione has to admit that the atmosphere is definitely grand, but also quite cold. As they walk through the room to the entrance of the female dorms, Hermione admires the tapestries featuring the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins.

"This is nicer than I thought it would be," She murmurs.

"Perfect for the pompous twats, but it's a bit _too_ grand for my taste," Lucretia replies. She nudges the door reading _seventh-year dorms_ open and Hermione immediately begins admiring the place. There are five ancient four-poster beds with green silk hangings and each have quilts embroidered with silver thread. There are more medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins covering these walls, and silver lanterns are hanging from the ceiling.

"You'll sleep well tonight, Gryff. Never gets windy down here. Your common room sounds like a Dragons batting its bloody wings above it," Lucretia teases.

"Yes, because I'm sure the sounds of Merpeople screeching outside your bedroom window is _so_ much better," Hermione replies with a grin to which Lucretia rolls her eyes at. They dump their things down by the young Black's bed and then head back upstairs to go to the Christmas Eve dinner. When the arrive up there they find that Tom is sat on one of the black sofas; his long legs are thrown carelessly in to the empty space beside him, and Hermione cannot help but feel slightly jealous of how he can make such a lazy position look elegant. When his eyes dart up to meet the muggle-born's he glowers at Lucretia and shuts the book he was reading.

"You've let a _Gryffindor_ in here?"

"Oh shut it, Riddle. It's Christmas eve."

"Bah! humbug," He mutters, which causes Hermione to smile despite herself. Who knew that Lord Voldemort had a sense of humor? And that he had read something so... _Muggle_. "Bring me some food back!" He adds.

"Why would I do that?" Lucretia scoffs. Riddle puts his book down and turns to Hermione, who is watching him with raised eyebrows.

"Because I am _nice_," He replies. Hermione's cheeks burn under his gaze: _Does he know that I've been talking about him? _She just scoffs and turns to leave. At dinner there is one large table set out with various types of food rather than four. Hermione helps herself to some fish and chips, declaring to a confused Lucretia that she will not enjoy tomorrow's Christmas Dinner if she has one now. The teachers around them all chatter merrily, and the students who have stayed behind - excluding Tom, who never turned up - all begin to joke about which faculty member they think will have too much Firewhiskey tomorrow. Hermione concludes that despite Yeilah's shy appearance she is rather funny and Urquart is not nearly as pompous as she had first thought him to be. By the end of the meal they are all agreeing to meet up at the frozen Black Lake tomorrow for a spot of ice skating. When Hermione and Lucretia finally get back to the Slytherin common room it's getting on eleven o'clock, and Tom has already gone off to bed.

"Today has been amazing," Hermione says as she enters the dorm from the bathroom in her nightgown.

"It really has. We should have done this more often."

"Well, you weren't going out with Ignatius last Christmas so it's hardly like we ever spoke," Hermione reminds the Slytherin, who merely shrugs in response. Lucretia goes to get changed, at that point. As soon as she is gone Hermione feels her eyes fixate on the entrance to the dormitory as her mind returns to Riddle. She knows that he had not said what he said earlier out of sheer coincidence - he had meant to communicate something with her... But what? It is then that Hermione remembers that Lord Voldemort is a skilled Legilimens. But even then, Hermione has been teaching herself those skills since third-year. Heck, Crabbe and Goyle had attempted to _use_ it on her once to no avail... _But Crabbe and Goyle are pretty thick_, she reminds herself. _Lord Voldemort is the 'greatest' dark wizard of all time. _So, has he been reading her mind? Her cheeks flush at what he could have seen in there. Does this mean that he knows that she's from the future? Hermione's eyes widen and she bites her lower lip nervously; _oh no, oh no, oh no_.

"Wake-y, wake-y," Lucretia sing-songs, pulling Hermione back to Earth. There is nothing she can do about it now, she decides, so she may as well enjoy Christmas - she can get straight back to work on Boxing Day.

"Sorry, went a little out of it there... Pass us the Every Flavour Beans."

The girls make a game out of taking an Every Flavour bean and biting in to it to test the taste for a while, but then decide to move on to the better confectionary that they - or Lucretia - bought. They talk about anything and everything for hours - Hermione tells Lucretia about what the orphanage is like whilst Lucretia tells Hermione about how disgustingly posh her home is, and somehow they end up getting on to a topic Hermione had always thought to be extremely pathetic - _which boy in the school do you think is fittest?_

"Come _on_, Luce. You know I'm not the kind of person to speak about these things-"

"Break the fourth wall for a while, Gee," Lucretia replies, tossing a Lemon Drop her way. It hits her on the head.

"But I... Well, I don't like anybody."

"Liar."

"How can you-?"

"You started _blushing _as soon as I brought the topic up!"

"Stupid observant Slytherin," She replies, glaring at her friend. "Well, who do you like?"

"Hermione, how many brain cells did that Lemon Drop kill? I'm going out with your best friend, remember? You're not sneaking your way out of this one, silly sneaky Gryffindor."

"But you'll think it's weird!" Hermione groans, hanging her head in her hands. She feels so pathetic right now, but mentioning to Lucretia that she may or may not like her cousin could prove to be awkward.

"I won't judge. Remember, I'm going out with a Gryffindor. That's sacrilege down in these parts."

"Oh good Godric, fine. Alphard."

"Whoa, as in my bloody cousin?" When Hermione nods, Lucretia bursts in to a fit of laughter. Red-faced, Hermione whacks Lucretia on the arm but this does nothing to stop her.

"You said you wouldn't judge!"

"That was b-before you t-t-told me!" She guffaws. Hermione decides to nibble on a liquorice wand until the Slytherin has stopped laughing. Once Lucretia has got a grip on her self-control she sits up again; breathless and grinning, she grabs a liquorice wand of her own.

"He likes you too, you know."

Hermione's eyes narrow, "So you laughed but-"

"As if you never _noticed_," Lucretia scoffs, "Really, I thought you were supposed to be smart..."

"I am," Hermione argues, but the Slytherin just rolls her eyes and pops a Sherbet Lemon in to her mouth. A few quiet minutes pass by before Lucretia speaks once more.

"What about Riddle, then?"

Hermione raises her eyes from the silk quilt, "What _about_ Riddle?"

"Well, I was always under the impression that you two kind of..."

"Ha!" Hermione then proceeds to burst in to such a terribly overwhelming fit of laughter that she falls off of the bed and almost chokes on _nothing_. The image of herself crawling in to the pale, spidery arms of Lord Voldemort in her time had entered her mind upon Lucretia's words and she cannot help it. Good Godric, a muggle-born. "I... Cannot... Breathe!"

"What's so funny?" Lucretia asks, trying her very best to act insulted – but she is giggling too, "It's not like he's unattractive or anything. Is there something I don't know about?"

Hermione just laughs harder - if that is even _possible_.

~x~

"Wait for me!"

"Yeilah!" Elphie yelps as the body of his Hufflepuff friend smacks straight in to his. The pair of them tumble to the ground, sliding across the thick ice of the Black Lake. They don't even care for the pain as they break in to a fit of giggles.

"Really, you two should be more careful," Hermione preaches.

"Oh, hush up Miss Perfect and get yourself on the ice before I push you on there myself," Lucretia sighs.

"There's no need to be bossy, Luce."

"Says the Queen of bossiness," Yeilah replies, laughing as Hermione childishly sticks her tongue out at her. The Gryffindor takes a moment to finish tying the laces together on her transfigured ice skates and then hesitantly steps on to the ice. _Oh Godric, why did I agree to this…_?

"Come on, Granger. The ice will have melted before you're skating at this rate!" Lucretia calls from further on.

"Easy for you to say! I wouldn't be surprised if your parents owned their own ice skating rink for you to practice on!"

"How'd you know?" She asks jokingly before pirouetting off again. Hermione just watches on whilst wobbling on her feet. It's not fair; how perfect Lucretia really is. She has the healthiest jet-black hair Hermione has ever seen; the same 'cute' features as her other Black relatives and the exact same blue-y green eyes as Alphard. Her skin is almost as pale as the winter snow and her cheeks are constantly flushed. She is _perfection_. It's hardly fair.

"Black could be something from the cover of Witch Weekly," Elphie says whilst admiring Lucretia, which earns him a firm slap on the arm from Yeilah. Hermione turns to the pair and giggles. She silently agrees with Elphie, though. She really could be. The Gryffindor feels like a troll stood next to her with her freckled skin and wild, bushy hair.

It takes Hermione a good half an hour to finally prove to the others that she cannot perform any form of physical sport. Whilst Lucretia attempts to teach her how to stop Hermione loses her control and slides head-first in to a nearby rock.

"Sweet Salazar!" Lucretia shrieks before gliding over to her friend, "Hermione, are you ok?"

"Can she hear us?"

"Hermione?"

Her vision is clouded, and her head is throbbing painfully. The Gryffindor groans and reaches her hand to the place on her head where she can feel a _huge_ bump forming. That is definitely going to bruise.

"Hermione…?"

"I… I'm ok," She says, but black dots are forming in front of her eyes and, despite this, she can see Lucretia, Yeilah and Elphie watching her with uncertainty. Hermione attempts to rid them off this by attempting to stand up, but a wave of nausea hits her so fast that she has no time to stop herself from vomiting. Luckily, she is laid at an angle so none of it lands on her clothes. Her friends leap back and wait until she has finished and then she finally accepts that she has to go to the Infirmary.

"Not _again_," Madam Purpentine sighs as Lucretia lowers Hermione on to one of the beds with a flick of her wand.

"She hit her head whilst we were ice skating," The Slytherin explains.

"Hermione, dear, I _did_ say that you cannot do anything dangerous for a month!"

"Sorry," She mumbles sheepishly, "I forgot."

"Gryffindors," The Matron mumbles.

But that is the truth. Hermione really had forgotten about that… Which causes her to worry again. Whilst Purpentine tends to her head wound, she sits and thinks about her life in the past so far and she finds herself coming to the conclusion that she has forgotten too much lately to be considered normal. That same feeling of unease she tends to get around Tom returns – is this a side-effect of the time travel spell that she missed out or forgot about? She begins cursing herself for her carelessness. Here she is playing pretend; acting like the people in this day and age, attempting to fit in whilst she _should_ be searching for a way home. She hasn't even looked at that book since Saturday, and its Monday now. If she hadn't received enough damage to her head she would face palm, right now.

"Hermione," Madam Purpentine calls from the doorway of the Infirmary, "You have a visitor."

Hermione's eyes widen slightly in surprise upon seeing who her visitor is – Tom Riddle. He politely thanks Purpentine for 'allowing him to visit Hermione' and then sweetly asks her if they could be alone together for a moment. The Gryffindor finds herself believing that he could charm a particularly stubborn Hippogriff as the Matron stutters her words and then stumbles in to her office. When she is gone Tom turns a smirk to her.

"Alright there, Granger?"

"Have you come here to make fun of me?" She mutters sulkily.

"You always were the clumsy one," He replies with a chuckle, making his way over to her hospital bed until he is sat comfortably in the chair at her bedside.

"What do you want, Tom?"

"Can I not visit my-"

"_Riddle_," She snaps. His expression morphs at the way she says his name – it is almost like watching a mask slip from the face of an actor. One minute he is smiling, the next he is staring at her blankly. This is the Tom that she grew up with… Or didn't. She feels slightly relieved despite it all, though. No more playing pretend. Not between the two of them.

"I came to speak with you," He replies, pulling out a piece of parchment from his pocket and examining it curiously, "See, the others have been fooled. I would even go as far as to say that you have been, too... Well, to an extent."

Dread fills Hermione's stomach. _No… He couldn't…_

"What are you talking about?" She asks; her throat suddenly feels dry and her voice betrays this.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

She should have known all along. He's Lord Voldemort, for Godric's sake! No glamour could fool him, no Legilimens could break their way in to his head and there's no way in hell that a memory charm could truly alter his mind.

"How did you find out?" She asks, suddenly sounding much stronger than she feels. His cool silvery eyes are overjoyed at his success at figuring out her little secret.

"Foolish girl," He spits before cackling at her, "I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. Firstly there was your sudden appearance a few weeks ago. You were the talk of the school, Miss Granger. _Have you heard about that girl that appeared out of nowhere?_" He mimics Alphard's voice so pathetically that she clenches her fists, suddenly feeling the overwhelming desire to hit him. "But then everyone woke up the next day and suddenly knew everything about you… I _remembered_ things that I never knew before. Those memory charms can take a while to work on powerful wizards," He boasts at this and Hermione can tell that he is leaving 'wizards like me' unspoken, but it is still meant to sink in. "See, they have to break through the witches or wizards barriers. My barriers are very strong, Miss Granger. I may have awoken remembering our childhood but I still remembered my true life… What really happened. But, see, something very odd has been happening to those real memories. I feel as though I am forgetting things… That the memories of you are replacing them…" He stands and then sits on the side of her bed. She can feel the heat of his body through the flimsy quilt and nightgown covering her body, which causes her to tense in fear. "And I think that you have been experiencing this, too."

She doesn't know how to respond. She is still in shock. He may indeed be a powerful wizard but Dumbledore is a lot more powerful than him at this point. Tom should not be able to remember a damn thing, so why can he? She just continues to stare at him, mimicking his cold, blank expression whilst fighting an internal war. This is very, very bad…

"Stay away from me," She finally says, hissing the words icily. He smirks at that and tosses the sheet of parchment he was examining earlier in her direction.

"That book of yours… The one you stole. It's missing a page. There it is. Now, I suggest that you hurry up with whatever it is you came here for and then get back to wherever you came from. I want you gone before I lose my real memories, Miss Granger. And if you're not…" He strokes his wand – the bottom of it just peeks out from inside the pocket of his robe, "Then I will be through playing _nice_."

* * *

_A/N: I understand that the fic may have been slightly ooc up until this point, but I can reassure you that it's going to get darker and more realistic from here on out. But I could really do with some feedback - do you think that I am writing the characters well? _


	6. Fidelius

Hermione feels as though her life has suddenly taken on a drastic turn, after her talk with Tom. With _Voldemort_. She is not allowed to sleep until Madam Purpentine has finished running tests on the extent of Hermione's injuries, but even if she were she is certain that she wouldn't. No Invigoration Draught is truly necessary, and it really wouldn't matter if the irritating Matron didn't exit her office to check on her patient's state every half an hour, because now that Tom Riddle knows who Hermione Granger really is… Will she ever really rest again? Images of Dumbledore's death plague her once more. His still, pale frame. The whimpers of fellow students. The devastation of their Professors… The hopelessness. The fear. It all comes flooding back. Like subliminal messages flashing within her mind. _This is what happens when you go against the Dark Lord_. The Dark Lord wants something from her, and that is what will happen if she ignores his request. He has already killed three people – what is there to stop him from killing one more?

She now knows what she has to do. But she has to speak to Dumbledore first, just to be sure. The following day Purpentine runs a few more tests using some advanced potions that Hermione is unfamiliar with. When the Matron announces that there are no signs of mental trauma the Gryffindor is released from the horrid Infirmary once more, but not before receiving a stern warning.

"I don't want to be seeing you in here again, Miss Granger! Take care of yourself!"

Hermione could not agree more with the Matron. She most certainly doesn't want to be back in that dreadfully boring place again… But she cannot help being clumsy. She leaves the Infirmary at lunch time and immediately heads up to the Gryffindor common room and changes in to something more comfortable before proceeding to Dumbledore's chambers. The castle is eerily silent when one wonders around alone. This doesn't help to comfort her whatsoever. After last night she feels as though she is living in a waking nightmare – every twist and turn within this place includes a potential risk, and Hermione may be impulsively brave but she is far from stupid. She knows just like the other students that when Tom Riddle wants you to do something you _do_ it… Unless you enjoy the Cruciatus curse. Hermione cannot say that she has met many people that do.

Within each common room there are three different doorways – one leads to the male dormitories, one leads to the female dormitories and one leads to the private chambers belonging to whoever your head of house is. The other teachers all have a corridor with chambers of their own, but it is impossible for students to find them. Hermione had heard from Seamus Finnigan during her day and age that the Founders themselves placed a Fidelius Charm on the whereabouts of the faculty chambers in fear of the students attempting to hide toads in their underwear drawers or pulling any pranks on them in general. But this could not stop students from pulling pranks on their head of house, so Rowena Ravenclaw invented a magnificent spell that only allows the owner of those chambers to enter, and a single witch or wizard of today is yet to find a way to break one of these spells. Seeing as this spell is cast on Dumbledore's chamber Hermione has to ask him to leave his chambers to speak with her – something that he is kind enough to agree to.

"I am sorry to bother you during the holidays, Dumbledore, but it's urgent."

"That is quite alright, Miss Granger. Please, what is it that you need?"

They are sat around the roaring Gryffindor common room's fireplace; Dumbledore has a steaming mug of Butterbeer in his hands whilst Hermione has her Gryffindor bed quilts wrapped tightly around her. There is a storm brewing outside and the temperature of the castle has dropped dangerously low due to this. She would _hate_ to be out there right now and idly begins to wander what the weather is like in 1996. It's probably the same; it had been this way constantly throughout her sixth year.

"I know that I'm not supposed to tell you about the future, but… But I _can't_ do this alone. Tom Riddle is too powerful for a wizard of our age… Sir, I _need_ help."

The Transfiguration teacher takes a sip of his Butterbeer and then purses his lips. Hermione waits, watching him patiently as his twinkling blue eyes glaze over in thought. He has to understand; the difference between the Dark Lord and people like her is _friendship_. Trust. Loyalty through emotion rather than fear. His 'knights' would abandon him in a heartbeat if they thought that somebody else had the upper hand over him, which is something that Hermione could have – _if_ she were allowed to tell her friends about what is really going on.

"Is it my help that you are asking for?"

"Well, yes, Sir, but also the help of my friends."

"Which friends?"

"Augusta, Ignatius, Lucretia, Alphard, Yeilah and Elphie."

"Hmm…" His eyes become uncertain, "That is a lot of people, Miss Granger."

"I know," She replies with a nod, "That's why I want you to be the secret keeper."

His eyes widen slightly upon hearing her say that. She watches him whilst he ponders her request; wringing her hands nervously. She knows that this is a lot to ask, but he is the most powerful and trustworthy wizard that she knows and being the secret keeper herself would be far too obvious. When he continues to remain quiet for too long, she continues to explain.

"It's too dangerous for me to be the secret keeper, Sir. I have been going through a lot of strange things, and I seem to be losing my previous memories the longer I stay here. Tom Riddle _knows_ about the memory charm. He is too strong to be completely fooled by it. _This_ is why I _need_ the Fidelius Charm – he cannot know _anything_ about the future. It's crucial that he is kept from any information about it, and I know that it is only a matter of time until he becomes curious… He is the reason I wanted to come here and I need to buy myself time to continue searching for ways to better him. I know the risks, but I _promise_ you the risks of my failure are far greater."

"I believe you," He sighs, suddenly looking very weary. "I will be your secret keeper. Are you sure that you know how to cast this charm? It is very tricky."

"Thank you, sir! Yes, I do. But first, I must tell you everything."

And so she does. Hermione tells Dumbledore everything from her friends Harry and Ron to their battles against the Dark Lord Voldemort. She mentions that a powerful faculty member had died rather than mentioning his name, though, from fear of changing the timeline. When she is finished the Transfiguration teacher is staring down at her in wonder - she uses this opportunity to stand and walk over to where Dumbledore is sat. She holds our her hand and he slips his in to hers so that they look as though they are shaking hands. Much like the Unbreakable Vow, a string of pale blue light leaves the tip of Hermione's wand and ties itself in to an eight shape around their wrists.

"Do you, Professor _Albus_ Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, swear to protect the secrets of my, Hermione Jean Granger's, mission and future under the Fidelius Charm?"

"I swear," He replies.

The string around their hands begins to glow brighter before snaking its way out of the 'eight' position it had previously taken. What seems to be the head of the snake-like string begins travelling over Hermione's hand and up to Dumbledore's wrist where it buries itself underneath his skin. Once it has disappeared inside of him he looks up at her with a comforting smile.

"And there we have it."

A newfound confidence puts a huge skip in to Hermione's step as she asks for Elphie, Yeilah and Lucretia to come with her to the Gryffindor common room. The trio follow Hermione whilst asking plenty of questions, but seeing as she can no longer speak of her origins or mission to anyone unless they are told about it by Dumbledore himself, she merely says that everything will be explained once they are in the common room. When the four students finally arrive they are pleased to find goblets of pumpkin juice and plates of toast waiting for them; they all sit on the sofas around the fireplace and watch their Transfiguration teacher expectantly. Whilst they enjoy their breakfast and Hermione drinks some more Invigoration Draught to keep herself awake, Dumbledore explains everything. When he finishes the three students from 1944 are staring at Hermione, dumbstruck.

"So, you mean… Wait, you're…" Elphie scratches his head, "What?"

"I've always known that Riddle's powerful," Yeilah murmurs, "But I never thought that he'd be capable of something like this… Prejudice git."

Lucretia, however, remains silent. She is the one with the most memories of Hermione, which makes the Gryffindor feel guilty when she notices the hurt in her eyes. She reaches over from her place beside her and wraps her arms around her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Luce. But our friendship is real, I promise. I feel everything you feel – they may have been put here by magic but it doesn't mean that our friendship is false."

"Doesn't it?" She asks; eyes glisten with tears. Hermione smiles comfortingly and shakes her head.

"No, because you are my friend. I swear."

"So," Dumbledore sighs, smiling at his four students comfortingly, "Do you all understand what I have told you? Miss Granger asked me to be her secret keeper for this knowledge, which means that you do not have the power to tell anybody – she trusts you, but it is Mr Riddle that this has to be kept from. This knowledge could prove to be highly dangerous if he discovers it."

"We understand," Elphie replies, nodding his head so that his honey-blonde hair falls in to his vivid green eyes, "We'll help you with Tom, Hermione."

"Of course we will!" Yeilah says, narrowing her eyes at the burning flames of the fire, "If that prick is going to do all of that to fellow muggle-borns then we have to stop him!"

"And my family may be prejudice but I'm definitely not," Lucretia adds, "Plus I'm at an advantage. Alphard will tell me anything."

"Actually, I've asked Dumbledore to let Alphard, Ignatius and Augusta know, too. That way we've got two Slytherins, four Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff on our side."

"What about a Ravenclaw?" Yeilah asks, "Some of my closest friends are in that house, some of which have been bullied by Riddle's servants since our first year."

"Teresa," Elphie murmurs, earning a nod from his girlfriend.

"Who?" Hermione asks, looking over at Yeilah who fidgets awkwardly.

"Tom… Er, well… I'll leave it up to her to tell you. But, honestly, you can trust her."

"Ok, we'll set up a meeting once school has started again. That way Dumbledore can let Ignatius, Augusta, Alphard and possibly Teresa what's going on… I'm sorry to ask you all for help with this, but I just don't know what else to do. Voldemort has no one to trust, so I just feel that with people _to_ trust I can best him. But I really need you all to help me."

"This isn't just about you, Hermione," Yeilah murmurs, patting her hand comfortingly, "It's about _everyone_. If Riddle is going to do all of these things then we have to put a stop to it. It's our future children and grandchildren on the line, here."

"You're right, it isn't just about me, but regardless of who this is about we've got to get this mission done."

"Wait," Elphie says, holding his hands up, "Can you explain this again?"

Yeilah nudges him with her elbow and rolls her eyes at Hermione.

"This _may_ take a while."

~x~

"But _still_," Augusta hisses in a whispered voice, "I can't _believe_ you never really-"

"Aggie, shut it!" Ignatius growls, shoving her shoulder as they walk towards their first Potions lesson of the spring term, "They've cast the Fidelius on this for a reason!"

"Do you actually _know_ anything about the Fidelius charm, dearest cousin?" Augusta asks, "Even if I mention something to you two it will go straight over everybody elses heads, and if I attempted to tell somebody about it then my voice would just stop working. Only Dumbl-" At this point Ignatius covers Augusta's mouth with the palm of his hand. Hermione offers him a grateful smile.

"So, 'Mione, what did you do during the holidays?" He asks to keep Augusta quiet.

"Well, we basically went through the books in both the usual part of the library and the restricted section. I can't tell Dumbledore that I stole the time travel book from him because that could stop him from allowing me to get it in the first place-"

"Isn't that a good thing?" Alphard asks from beside Ignatius, "If he stopped you from getting the book then you would have never come here in the first place, meaning we wouldn't need to get you back home."

"My first priority isn't getting home anymore, Alph. I'm putting my objective first – that way we can kill two birds with one stone."

"So you're saying that you'd rather stop you-know-who, right?"

"Right."

"Do you realize that makes my life a little difficult?"

"Don't blame 'Mione, Alph," Lucretia growls, "You're the one who joined Riddle's little cult, not us."

"It's hardly like you can just say no to him, Luce!" Alphard snaps, "I'd like to see you do it."

"I _do_ say no to him, dimwit!"

"And I have to work twice as bloody hard to ensure that he doesn't hurt you because of it!"

"HEY! Don't blame me for-"

"SHUT IT!" Augusta bellows, hitting the pair of arguing Blacks on their arms, "For _God's_ sake, you're worse than Slughorn and Grubbly-Plank after a couple of Firewhiskeys!"

"Thank _Godric_ for Potions," Ignatius mutters, agreeing with his cousin as they enter their classroom. Hermione bids her friends farewell and then heads over to the seat beside Tom. He is already sat down with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms folded behind his back; he looks so perfect with his lean body, to-die-for black curls and glowing pale skin that Hermione finds herself becoming envious again, especially after she trips up over her own feet on her way over to him. Blushing profusely, she pulls out her chair and sits down. Relief washes through her when she realizes that he is refusing to acknowledge her presence. Well, at least for now. _Good._

"Welcome, students. Welcome back! I trust that you all enjoyed Christmas?" Slughorn stammers whilst fussing around the dreadful pile of books on his desk, presumably looking for today's lesson plan. "Now, what were we doing…?"

"Sir," Hermione calls, holding her hand up. He stops fumbling through the mess of knowledge on his desk to look her way, "We're doing the Polyjuice Potion. You asked us to work with our seating partners and-"

"Ah, yes! Thank you, Miss Granger. Take five house points for your helpfulness."

"Bumbling fool," Tom scoffs under his breath to his head of house, earning a glare from Hermione.

"Do you all have the ingredients required for the Polyjuice Potion, everyone?"

"Our Lacewing flies finish stewing today, Sir!" Augusta calls.

"But some of us haven't been able to collect any Fluxweed."

"And who has?"

"I have, Sir," Tom calls out, along with Alphard (who has it growing in his back garden) and a couple of other students who live in Godric's Hollow. Apparently it grows there, too, but the rest have to wait a few weeks until they can collect theirs.

"Well then, it looks like we are in quite a pickle… Yes… Well, if some of you have already stewed your lacewing flies and have your fluxweed then I see no reason for you to not complete the potion now, otherwise I am afraid the rest of you will have to just have to read in to it some more until you can get your hands on some fluxweed. If you have already stewed your flies and cannot brew the potion today then you must…" Hermione switches off at this point as she heads over to the cauldron on the side where her lacewing flies are stewing. Whilst Tom silently begins setting up his cauldron she sieves off the flies and places them in to an empty jar before pouring the water down the classrooms stone basin. Slughorn sends the students without fluxweed off to do their research in the library – all that is left in the end is a couple of Gryffindor pairings, Alphard and Ignatius, Lucretia and Augusta and Tom and Hermione.

"Right," Hermione sighs once she returns to Tom, "We need to begin by adding three measures of that fluxweed to the cauldron… Where is it?"

"Here," He replies, holding up a jar that's contents include sixteen scruples of fluxweed. She beckons for him to hand her the jar and, with signs of irritation of been told what to do, he does so. Hermione then adds three measures of fluxweed along with two bundles of knotgrass (that Slughorn has provided for them) to Tom's cauldron. "Stir that three times, clockwise," She orders, and surprisingly enough Tom does as he is told. She can feel his cool, silvery eyes studying her the entire time, though. His gaze makes her feel as though somebody is pressing blocks of ice to her spine; every time she turns away from him the cold sensation is there, and she can't help but shiver. Her cheeks flush angrily when she notices that he is smirking about it.

"…But leeches are _disgusting_!" Hermione hears Lucretia yelp, distracting both her and Tom when they are a little further on in to their potion-making. A shriek soon follows this and both Tom and Hermione look up from their cauldron once again to see that Alphard has grabbed his cousins hands and pinned them behind her back whilst Ignatius dangles one of the fat, slimy creatures in front of her face.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Open uuuuuup," Ignatius drawls. Augusta is bent over and holding on to her desk; her entire frame wracks with breathless, soundless laughter at Lucretia's petrified facial expression.

"You lot are mental," Hermione calls to them, giggling whilst she watches Tom add their leeches to the potion.

"Granger, add two scoops of lacewing flies to the mortar and-"

"Crush them," She nods, "Ok. Pass me the mortar, will you?"

Tom stares at her for a moment with raised eyebrows, which causes Hermione to give him a 'what's wrong' look. After staying like that for a moment he leans in towards her – Hermione's heart suddenly jumps, and her cheeks flush further as she feels his breath fan out across her face. They are centimetres away from one another and she is frozen in place by the intense look in his eyes and _sweet Salazar he smells good_—But then he pulls away and holds up the mortar in front of her face, causing her to blink in surprise.

"It was on the desk beside you, _idiot_," He mutters, rolling his eyes before adding two more leeches to the bubbling potion. Hermione blinks again and then just stands there. She knows that gawping at him like this will not do any favours for her, but… But she had been so sure that he was going to… She shakes her head as though to shake those insane thoughts from her mind and silently crushes the lacewing flies in the mortar. Once she has added those to their cauldron they place their potion on a low heat and cast a couple of protective charms over it to prevent the meddlesome younger years from ruining it. Due to the extent of her flustered state she misses the small flush that colours his cheeks, too.

"Fantastic! Oh, wonderful!" Slughorn bellows, throwing an arm around both Hermione and Tom once he sees how their potion is going, "But it is perfect! Let's see, tomorrow, if you can brew the second part just as well! Ten house points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin, as you two finished first."

"Thank you, Sir," Tom says, beaming at him. Hermione raises her eyebrows at the Slytherin heir which causes him to look at her with feigned innocence. She scoffs at that and, without a word, heads over to her friends who are just finishing up their own potions.

"Hey, my little hermit, what do you do with these stupid flies now?" Alphard asks, giving her a puppy-dog look that has her rolling her eyes at him. Slughorn has just gone in to his private storage cupboard, so she makes her way over to him and takes the mortar from his hand.

"Tip two scoops in here," She says, holding it closer to him so he can do just that, "And then crush them. Once you've done that add them to the potion and leave it on a low heat and you're done."

"Thanks!" Alphard murmurs before taking the lacewing flies and placing a quick 'thank you' kiss on her cheek. Her cheeks flush pink from that, and when she heads back to her place to gather her things together she is smiling like a fool…

She doesn't know what the hell she has done wrong, but she must have done something, because there must be a reason for the crimson-eyed glare that Tom Riddle flashes at her before slamming the door to the potions classroom shut behind him; making all of its inhabitants jump.

"He's mental," Augusta mutters, suddenly appearing right beside Hermione which causes the confused Gryffindor to jump once more. She notices this and places a comforting arm around her shoulders, "Don't worry, we'll all take a look at that book of yours and its missing page at lunch. There's a reason he gave you that, so we'll figure it out together and put a stop to his weird antics, okay?"

"Ok," Hermione nods, but she can't get the image of his fierce red eyes out of her head…

~x~

"It's fucking _freezing_ out here," Ignatius complains as the girls in their group of friends rush over to the snowless spot under the willow tree in the courtyard. Elphie shares a look of agreement with his fellow male Gryffindor whilst they follow on, shoving his hands in to the pockets of his winter robes for warmth.

"Stop being such a baby," Lucretia replies, walking over to place a quick kiss on his lips. "But if you're really that cold then you can snuggle up to me, sweetie."

"Get a room," The Hufflepuff mutters in mock-disgust.

"Says the one who sucks face with Elphie in the bloody corridors!" Lucretia replies, making both Yeilah and Elphie blush.

"We're trying to keep it _private_, Luce! Stop bellowing it to the whole school!" Yeilah replies, but the Slytherin just scoffs.

"Well you're not very familiar with the meaning of the word privacy then, are you?"

"When's your cousin going to ask Hermy out, anyway?" Ignatius asks, winking at Hermione once her eyes snap away from the book to him.

"Nate, you _know_ that I couldn't-"

"Who says?"

"Well, I just don't think it would be a very good idea… I may go back to the future at any point. Although, with the way this conversation is going we'll never find a way to stop you-know-who."

"Ok, ok," Ignatius sighs, falling down to rest his back against the tree trunk beside her, "Let's have a look at that book of yours."

So, Hermione hands the book over to Ignatius, who begins reading the translation whilst Augusta snatches up the original and reads the Runes as effortlessly as she would read a book written in English. Whilst they do that Hermione finally pulls that piece of parchment out of her pocket and stares at the title nervously.

_Other Problems That May Occur From the Use of Time Travel._

When she had first seen the title up in the Infirmary she felt a rush of terror flood through her and, ever since then, she has not been able to bring herself to read the rest of that blasted page. She almost laughs – for the first time in her life; Hermione Granger has found something that she _doesn't_ want to read!

Around an hour later everyone has read enough of either the translation or the original book to know what it the author was talking about. They sit close due to the lack of dry ground underneath the tree – unfortunately this is the only place Hermione could think to bring them without being eavesdropped on as she doesn't really feel like sharing the whereabouts of the Room of Requirement with them. Ignatius, who is holding Lucretia close from behind, rests his chin on her shoulder so that her hair is tickling his face. Those Weasley-esque eyes of his bore in to Hermione's, painfully reminding her of Ron once more. He takes the lonely page from her and begins to read the runes. _I miss them so much, _she whimpers internally.

"Hermione, this last page…"

"What does it say? Just tell me, I'll never be able to bring myself to read it," She gnaws her lower lip, restraining herself from covering her ears to block out Ignatius' next words.

"Well, it talks about those memory problems you were talking about. The magick you channelled to get you here in the first place will install false memories in to both you and the people you are surrounded with so that you'll fit in to that time frame, but your original memories will slowly fade away the longer you stay there. I think it's trying to say that if you can't complete your mission then you have to stay here, so time attempts to correct the huge hole you've put in it by fitting you in to our time and removing you from your own timeframe completely."

Her face pales, and she feels a lump beginning to form in her throat. It makes sense now. She should have realized sooner… _This_ is why Tom had been so upset about her being here. But this still doesn't explain how he remembers everything, does it? Although him being the younger version of the Darkest wizard in History is explanation enough for that – she has already concluded that his power alone bests that of anyone that she has ever met, before, even at the age of eighteen.

"Merlin's beard," She whimpers; her eyes flood with tears of rage that is purely directed at herself. "I'm doomed."

"Hermione, don't think like that!" Elphie murmurs whilst wrapping a comforting arm around her and pulling her in for a hug, "You've told us now and we're going to help you. I _promise_ you we'll help you get home, but to do that we've got to do exactly what you said before and stop Riddle, remember? We'll do it, 'Mione. Please don't cry."

But she can't help crying. She hasn't really cried about this for a while; even though she is surrounded by an amazing group of people that are willing to do _anything_ for her she can't help but miss Harry's sarcastic comments, Ron's smile, her modern day teachers – hell, she even misses Draco's biting comments. She would take dozens of them over forgetting about her friends. She would take death over never getting to see Harry, Ron, the Weasley family or any of her other friends again. Ginny, Fred, George, Luna, Neville, her _parents_-

"What am I doing?" She asks, halting her sobs as she raises her head from Elphie's shoulder. "What am I _doing_, sat here crying. I should be working! We need to find more information." Although her cheeks are damp with tears and her eyes are puffy from crying, she smiles at Ignatius, "You just discovered something! That's a start!"

"But it doesn't exactly set us in any direction to find anything else," Lucretia mumbles. Augusta nudges her with her elbow and gives her a look that screams _shut it!_

"But it does!" Hermione yells.

"Mind telling us what that path is?" Ignatius asks.

"Can't you see? Riddle is the one that gave me that page in the first place! I bet that he tore it out of the book himself, which means-"

"That means that Riddle has read it," Yeilah's eyes widen as Hermione nods enthusiastically.

"Which means that we've got to go find Alphard."


	7. Mudblood

The Slytherin boys had seemingly disappeared after lunch yesterday, so Hermione had to explain to the others that she would tell Alphard what they had discovered in tomorrow's History of Magic lesson. They need to get Riddle to talk about how he got the book and when he read it, so after she explains that they need to get a move on with this research she breaks the news to her Slytherin friend:

"… So, you're going to have to try and get it out of Riddle," Hermione mutters to Alphard, making sure to keep her voice down as a_ living_ Professor Binns lectures the Warlock's Convention of 1709 to the very _bored_ class of seventh-years. She keeps her eyes on Binns just in case he takes this time to look up from the book sat in front of him, so the only indication that Alphard is paying any attention to her is his frustrated sigh. She knows what he is thinking without asking – _I'm putting myself at risk here, Hermione_ – but the Slytherin within himself only runs so deep. She would swear to all four founders, if it came to it, that their hat was wrong. Alphard may be _in_ Slytherin but, to her, he will always _be_ a Gryffindor.

"'Mione, he's going to know that you put me up to this. He'll start getting more suspicious than he already is. Look, we're at an advantage with me being his 'right hand man' or whatever you want to call it. Just ask him yourself."

"He'll never tell me," She hisses back, "Use your common sense, Alph!"

"I _am_!" He growls whilst glaring at her from the corner of his eyes, "You're the one being all Gryffindor about this. Sometimes, Hermione, you have to think plans through before you execute them. I'm not throwing myself in to a round of _crucio_ just because you want to know if he's read your stupid bo—!"

"Mr Black… Miss Granger?"

Both Alphard and Hermione jump at the sound of Binns barking their names irately.

"Is there something that you would like to share with the class?"

Hermione can feel Tom's intense gaze from the other side of the classroom, causing her face to pale. _No, she would rather cut out her tongue than share this information with the class._

"No, sir. We're sorry, Alphard was just confused about something involving the law change. I was just clearing it up for him," She then flashes a sweet smile at the Professor who proceeds to relax. Hermione can feel Alphard's frustrated magic crackling in the air around her, so she just sends him a frustrated glance and then continues with her note taking. He lounges back in his chair, clenching his fists on the table to stop himself from snapping at her. The pair of them are very relieved when Binns finally dismisses them for the day.

"You're being so selfish, you know?" He sneers as they exit the classroom. Hermione's eyes widen in surprise as she turns to scoff at him.

"Me!? You're the one acting like a pathetic _Slytherin_ about it! 'Oh, I can't do that; it might ruin my spotless, pure-blooded reputation'. Get a grip, Alphard. None of you are one-hundred per cent pure-blooded anyway so I don't understand why you're all so uppity about it!"

"How can you _talk_ to me like that!?" He yells; neither notice the number of eyes watching them as they argue in the centre of the corridor, "I've done _loads_ for you, you ungrateful cow!"

"And it's not like I haven't done enough for you, either! Really, you ought to be surprised that we're even _friends_ with you in the first place after what _you've_ been up to!"

"LOOK WHO'S BEING UPPITY NOW!" Alphard growls, now red with fury, "WELL FINE THEN, IF THAT'S HOW YOU SEE IT THEN LEAVE ME OUT OF THIS! I DON'T NEED TO TAKE ORDERS FROM _MUDBLOODS _ANYWAY!"

He realizes what he's said a moment too late. Suddenly, all of the crackling angry energy disapparates from their surroundings; Hermione stands there, gazing at him with a look of disbelief. Snickers begin to build within the crowd – she scans the staring faces and finds Riddle and his group of friends laughing, mocking her just as her _friend_ has. She could have ignored it if it had been anyone else from Tom's pathetic group of purists to call her that wretched name, but it was Alphard. Her friend. The boy she _likes_. Guilt pierces him like a blade as he watches tears spring to her eyes and her cheeks flush in humiliation. More people are laughing, now.

"Hermione, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't speak to me," She spits venomously. How could Alphard call her that, after everything? How could his family_ still _have succeeded in brainwashing him in to believing that blood defines who a person is after all these years of being friends with her? She had thought him to be different. Are they all like this? Does Lucretia secretly believe it, too? An overwhelming urge to run has Hermione racing away from the scene, ignoring the obnoxious jeers of the Slytherin boys as she does. The tears spring from her eyes as she immediately heads to the one place where she can guarantee that she will be completely alone – the Room of Requirement.

The door echoes as it slams shut behind her. The room does not possess a collection of hidden things as it had the last time Hermione had been here. No; it appears to her in the form of a small room with a red sofa and tapestries similar to that of the Gryffindor common room. A fire ignites itself in the small fireplace in front of her, but she barely notices as she removes her robes and curls up on the plush cushions. Tears are still streaming down her cheeks, but she suddenly feel so exhausted. Like the entire weight of the situation is resting on her and her alone once more. She reaches over to draw her wand from her robes.

"_Avis_," She mutters; four yellow canaries flutter out of the end of her wand and begin circling through the air, chirping and tweeting merrily. The Gryffindor falls back on to the sofa but spreads out so that her legs are dangling over the sides and she is facing upwards, watching the birds ministrations. One lands on the mantelpiece of the fireplace whilst the others head off in their own directions. Hermione doesn't remember when it happens, but somewhere between watching the delicate feathered creatures dance through the air and listening to their comforting melody she falls in to the heaviest sleep she has experienced since she had been in the hospital wing after her travel to the past.

~x~

"_Rennervate_."

Hermione's mind feels foggy; as though she has been yanked out of a dream, as she opens her eyes. From the flickering orange and red lights she can tell that the fire is still burning in front of her sofa, but the chirping of the birds has been silenced. _They probably disappeared after a while_, she realizes. Those birds were not real, after all, so it only makes sense. Anyway, she may still be tired but that nap has definitely helped her mood. She slowly tenses her arms to help push herself up off the sofa – her heart leaps in to her throat the second she realizes that she's not alone.

"What the—_Riddle_!" She growls, baring her teeth angrily as he lounges against the wall where the door to the room usually appears. His cool, silvery eyes are studying her with a touch of amusement. This immediately causes her to feel somewhat underdressed, despite wearing her entire school uniform - excluding her robe. She tugs it back on immediately, still glaring at him as she does so. "What do you _want_?"

"How do you know about this place?" He quirks an eyebrow whilst asking; when she replies with nothing but a suspicious look he rolls his eyes, "I'm merely curious. Not many have been able to find it. Actually, I doubted that anyone else in the school knew about this room until now."

"Perhaps you shouldn't think so low of everyone else. We're not _all_ complete dunderheads, you know? Anyway, did I not tell you to stay away from me?"

"And did I not tell you to go back to wherever you came from? Hmm… Unless crying and sleeping is your way of completing your mission," He _tsks_, "And I thought you had to be _strong_ to cast that time travel spell."

"When did you read that book?"

His mocking expression drops upon being asked. She hadn't meant to do it; it just kind of slipped out. Now wide awake, Hermione pushes herself off the sofa and stands straight, calculating each and every movement Riddle makes. She knows that he is not to be underestimated – not only is he powerful but he is also a fantastic manipulator.

"How can you be so sure that I have?"

"Well, first of all you give me some mysteriously missing page from the book. Not to mention that you seem to know everything in there. Really, you have made it a little bit obvious, don't you think?"

The Slytherin heir merely shrugs and gives her an infuriating smirk before falling down to sit on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head and letting out a tired sigh. Hermione glowers at him and his mysterious ways. _Fine then, don't tell me_, she hisses internally before proceeding to storm over to the door. Tom has proceeded to help her forget all about Alphard's cruel outburst, so she doesn't even consider what will happen when she leaves – she just wants to be away from Riddle. But when she asks for the door it never shows. Hermione looks at Tom over her shoulder; he is sat spinning his wand through his fingers, and she immediately knows that he's cast some sort of spell to keep the door from opening for her.

"Let me out," She snaps.

"Now _why_ would I do that?" He slips his wand back in to his robe pocket and then shrugs out of it, "We have a lot to discuss, Miss Granger. I would appreciate it if you would sit."

What choice does she have? With an agitated half-growl of a sigh Hermione makes her way over to the sofa and sits as far away from Riddle as possible, pulling her knees to her chest and facing him completely. There is no way that she is going to allow herself to relax – she has to stay alert around him. He's dangerous… But whenever she tells herself that all she sees is that helpless little boy that she saved back at the orphanage all those years ago. Their eyes lock and she bites her lower lip, still unsure about what her reaction to him should be.

"What year are you from?"

"I can't tell you," She replies, suddenly smug, "I can't even tell you why I cannot tell you. All I can say is that I've gone to great lengths to make sure that you don't find out a damn thing about the future."

"Have you now?" He asks almost lazily, "That's a shame. Well, for you. I happen to know a potent curse that can break an _awful_ lot of spells."

He leaves _the Cruciatus curse_ unspoken but it is definitely implied. The mental state of Neville Longbottom's parents comes to mind, causing her to wince. She had not really thought about that when she had asked Dumbledore to be the secret keeper. The thought of her causing serious harm to Dumbledore now – when he is supposed to be such a huge assistance to her and her friends in the future – makes her panic. She has to get out of here. Riddle can know _nothing_.

"This could ruin your future. Don't you realize that?" She asks, searching her mind for an excuse that will make him see sense, "I can't tell you. Now let me go – I'm expected somewhere else."

Tom's smile is lazy as he replies; "I doubt that. After running off like that earlier? I am surprised that you would _want_ to escape your little hiding place." What happened just hours ago returns to Hermione's mind, causing her to grind her teeth as she glares at him.

"Can you not just leave me alone? _I'm_ surprised that you feel an overwhelming urge to hide away with a 'mudblood' like myself," She spits.

"Oh, don't _flatter _yourself," He scoffs, suddenly irate, "I told you why I'm here."

"And _I _have already told you that I _can't_ tell you, for Godric's sake!"

Tom's sudden shift from sitting to standing causes Hermione to jump. She allowed her anger to get the better of her and he has taken her by surprise – something she had not wanted him to do. She can see his left hand itching to take his wand out, and when her eyes meet his once more there is a red tint to the silvery depths. But she cannot let him see her fear. This is the man that will someday bring her blood status to shame, and that angers her enough for her to battle against her fears. She stands too and grasps her wand, tugging it from her pocket and holding it firmly in her right hand.

Riddle chuckles at this; the sound is not one of humour, though. In fact it is far scarier than any sneer or glare he could throw her way. Her previous anger seems to cool off. He has her trapped with such an intense gaze that she cannot separate her own emotions from his. The silver is gone. It has been replaced with a deep crimson that could have one wondering whether they had been that colour all along. He is close. Too close. Like he was in Potions a few days prior. His breath is tickling her face.

"Tell me," He whispers. The sound is… Tender. She can't break eye contact and all sounds refuse to leave her lips. She shakes her head.

Slowly, Tom lifts his left hand. The one he usually has his wand in. A sign of trust, Hermione notes internally. Tom Riddle trusts her? She cannot make sense of that. Not at all. Tom Riddle has never trusted anyone. Not for as long as she can remember. He hates everybody ranging from the muggles at the orphanage to everybody in the school. He hates her… He does. She is sure of it. His long, pale finger twists a wavy lock of Hermione's chocolate hair around his fingers. She feels it, but she cannot look away from those eyes… Even though they are now gazing at that strand of hair… They remind her of _him_. Of Voldemort. Of the person that he is going to become. Why do they change colour?

_Why am I allowing him to do this_? A part of her suddenly asks – most likely the part of her brain that is still stuck in 1996. Her voice returns to her as she asks:

"What are you doing?"

She seems to snap him out of something because his eyes return to silver instantly, and he jumps away from her as though she has shot a spell at him.

"Nothing."

_He's seems to have forgotten why he came here_, she thinks to herself wryly as he storms over to the door, asks for it and leaves. After that immensely odd reaction Hermione knows what she has to do. She needs to look in to the channelling that she did. Besides, it seems that using Dumbledore's magic to get here has affected him along with everybody else. If she is going to find a way to get home then it will have to be through the use of that.

~x~

After Care for Magical Creatures the following day, Hermione uses her free period to research. With Ignatius by her side, they hide away in their usual spot of the library. The weather is beginning to warm up; the sky outside is a clear, crystal blue and the pearl white snow is slowly but surely melting away in to slush. Small trickles of what was once frost slip down the window, distorting the view ever-so-slightly. The duo sit close together so that the mysterious book is sat on both of their legs.

"I reckon that we need to start looking in to who wrote this thing rather than its contents," Ignatius murmurs, "If we do that then maybe we can find more information on the author. Perhaps they even wrote another book."

"I think you're right," She responds, nodding as she strokes one of the worn, yellowed pages. "Do you know the spell?"

"Of course."

Hermione knows this spell too, but for once in her life she doesn't want to be the girl with all of the answers. She wants to be able to depend on others as, she has explained before, she believes that this is one of the only things that she has over him. So she pushes the book on to Ignatius' lap and watches as he hovers both of his hands just millimetres away from its pages. His eyes slide closed, and Hermione watches the pages of parchment as they begin to glow.

"I can sense _something_… Yeah, the author must have been up their own arse, because they've stored some of their own magic within the pages."

"Their _magic_?" Hermione scoffs, "They really were. Have you felt magic like it before?"

"Not really. It feels quite dark, though... No wonder this isn't in the library."

Hermione raises her eyebrows and smirks at Ignatius as she speaks, "Not to mention the fact that it gives you clear instructions on time travel. Couldn't _possibly_ have anything to do with _that._"

"Aw c'mon they definitely check the magic within the pages, as well, Miss Know-It-All."

"I'm only kidding… Thanks for this, by the way," She pokes the book and smiles fondly up at him, "For helping me."

"It's what we're here for, remember?" But his smile falters slightly as he releases a sigh, "Speaking of which, how are you…? After yesterday?"

Hermione is a strong woman, despite everything, so she can be honest about her feelings without bursting in to tears. She does not want to cry anymore – mainly because she got it all out yesterday – but when she shakes her head Ignatius knows that she is far from ok with it. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and she leans her head in to the crook of his neck.

"He was just pissed, 'Mione. I don't think he meant it."

"I don't care. Perhaps he should think before he speaks," She snaps offensively.

"I'm not trying to get you to forgive him. If I were you I'd be socking him in the face," This causes Hermione to giggle quietly, "But at the same time he's going through a lot. His parents are all for Grindelwald's theories and Alph's under a lot of pressure. He's getting stronger; have you seen the Prophet?"

"I'd rather not, thanks."

"I really want to ask you if he takes over Britain, right now. But I don't think you'd want to go back to your present day if he did."

Hermione wants to tell him that something much worse is going on in the future, but that would disrupt the timeline far too much, so she just shakes her head.

"Anyway, stop trying to ignore the rules of time travel and see if that magic is linked to anything in here. Maybe the author wrote another book before delving too deep in to the Dark Arts."

"I'll need my wand for that. Mum's been teaching me stuff like this. I never thought I'd use it but…" He shrugs and then pulls his wand from his robes. He closes his eyes and touches the tip to the front cover of the book. For a moment it seems like he is doing nothing, but then a silvery glow similar to the one previously surrounding the book snakes itself around his wand. Then, he holds his wand flat in his palm.

"Point me," Ignatius mutters. His wand begins floating and spins a few times before pointing to the end of the bookshelf. The duo stand and walk in that direction; when they reach the bottom of the row his wand suddenly points forward, towards the restricted section. Due to Nate's prefect privileges they are able to enter, so they continue on in there and then come to a standstill as the wand shoots out of Ignatius' hand and comes to a stop right in front of a black-as-night book.

"What's your wand?" Hermione asks; staring transfixed at it.

"Nine and three-quarter inches Pine wood and Phoenix feather core, unyielding," He murmurs, giving her a curious look, "Why'd you ask?"

"Because the Phoenix feather core can cause wands to act of their own accord; I wanted to know if yours just had."

"Well, I didn't tell it to fly to the book, if that's what you mean."

"It is…" Hermione goes to reach out for the book, but the wand presses itself tighter to the cover. She immediately gives Ignatius a look that causes him to reach out for it – the wand falls back in to his hand and stops glowing altogether. They share a glance before he picks the book up from the shelf.

"Weird," Ignatius comments, "I've never seen a wand act like that before. Do you think it has anything to do with the book?"

"I don't know. Did you buy that wand or has it been passed down through generations?"

"No. No, we're not like the Malfoys," He rolls his eyes, "I bought this. Well, my parents did. Just before we were starting at Hogwarts."

"Curious," She mutters, but she cannot dwell on that now. Hermione takes the book from Ignatius and admires it under better lighting. There is a pentagram on the front, and the pages are yellow and decayed. She flips open the cover and, slowly, a name reveals itself in ink.

"Cadmus Peverell."

"I recognize the name…" But Ignatius trails off as he too becomes mesmerized by the book, as information on the author has begun to write itself down. Hermione turns the page and waits for something else to appear, but nothing happens.

"We should tell the others," She says, flushing with a rooting excitement "They may be able to help!"

So, with the book tucked away in to Hermione's schoolbag, the two of them rush out of the library (much to Madam Fickleberry's chagrin) straight to the Divination classrooms. They ignore Sir Cadogan's duel requests as they race up the stairs, barely hearing his feisty words due to their eager curiosity. When they are finally standing outside Lucretia and Augusta's classroom they are panting profusely.

"For a Quidditch player… You don't get much exercise."

"It doesn't… Involve running."

"Hermione, Nate, what're you doing here?" Augusta questions, exciting the Divination classroom; Hermione never even noticed them being dismissed.

"We've found another clue. The author of the book wrote another book. We'll explain everything in the common room."

"Oh thanks," Lucretia mumbles with feigned offence, "I'll just use a disillusionment charm then, shall I?"

"Oh, sorry Luce. We'll go to-"

"Hermione, if you're about to say 'the library' then I'm lobbing a jelly-legs jinx at you and telling them myself."

"_Hey_!"

"We'll go to the willow again," He sighs and then turns to Hermione, "C'mon, I spoke to… Erm, I just know that we won't bump in you-know-who, alright?"

"Ok," Hermione nods. She doesn't fancy asking who Ignatius spoke to, so she just follows him along with Augusta and Lucretia. Aggie is helping out in the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff fourth-years Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson after lunch so she agrees to catch Yeilah and Elphie up during that hour. Once they get to the willow tree Hermione casts a quick warming charm she was reminded of in Charms earlier and then sits, instantly tugging the book from her bag.

"Ok, so I and Hermione were in the library earlier with the book and decided to scan it for any signs of who the author may be-"

"No, _Ignatius_ scanned the book-"

"Yeah," He rolls his eyes, "Shut it and stop acting like you couldn't have done it. Anyway, I detected some dark magic in the pages. Whoever wrote it was obviously a prat because they concealed some of their magic in the pages. But the weird part came when I used this spell I learnt during the holidays – I took out my wand and channeled some of the author's magic, but my wand seemed to react weirdly to it. Apparently Phoenix feathers can act on their own accord, and for the first time _it did_! I cast point me and it took us straight to this," He points to the black leather-bound book in Hermione's lap, "And wouldn't let Hermione pick it up until I had!"

"Ooh, I know what that is!" Lucretia near-enough shouts as her eyes light up, "Aunt Dru told me about it. Apparently you can charm a book to find people, whether that be a friend or a relative. It sounds relatively simple but it's not – only really, _really _powerful witches and wizards can do it. There's a book in our library at home that found my Dad when he was our age. It's nothing great, though, just an ancestors diary that's been passed down to every male in my family."

"Do you know how they do it?" Augusta asks.

"Not a clue. But Nate's right about the dark power. The charm is part of the Dark Arts because it involves removing a part of yourself – your magic – and placing it in to the book. If something like that gets in to the wrong hands…"

"Chaos," Hermione mutters. "So, do you think that this book on time travel was looking for me? The circumstances that led up to me finding it were a bit odd."

"Maybe. But I think that the one Nate is holding is looking for Riddle."

Ignatius, Hermione and Augusta all stare at Lucretia in silence. After a moment it becomes uncomfortable.

"_What_?" She snaps.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? Gee's time travel book gave _Ignatius_ instructions to find the book he's got now and wouldn't let her pick it up. Who did you fall out with yesterday?"

"Alphard," Hermione says. Lucretia has been too blunt again, because for a moment she tunes out as she has to stop herself from sinking in to saddened thoughts.

"… Hermione because she's not speaking to him. It looks for someone with a bond to whoever it's looking for. I think that it wanted Ignatius because he can pass the book on to Alph and then Alph can pass it on to Riddle."

"Are you sure?" Augusta questions.

"More than sure. We can test it though, if you want. Ignatius can keep hold of it and we'll see how long it takes to go to Alphard."

"But that book has told us the author to this one," Hermione holds up her book on time travel, "What if it helps us find out how to complete this mission."

"Hermione, the more I think about it the more I wonder if any book _will_ help you complete it," Augusta replies, reaching up to twist a strand of her hair around her finger, "You've approached it theoretically for too long. Maybe you should try approaching it practically?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what was the mission again?"

"To stop Riddle before he can start this."

There is a long pause for a moment before Lucretia snaps: "_What_?"

"I-I was angry at the time!" Hermione snaps back, "I meant to say kill him… But it came out wrong…"

"_Hermione_," Ignatius growls, "That's the vaguest mission _ever_! The spell could've thought you meant _anything_!"

"I'm done for today," Lucretia stands and runs a hand through her black hair, "Augusta's right, Gee. You're going to have to quit the bookworm act and dive in to this. I reckon that is the only way you'll find out what you've got to do," She turns her gaze to Ignatius, "You coming with me?"

"Yeah," He replies before heaving himself off of the ground. Hermione watches as he tucks that book in to his bag. The couple say their farewells to the girls and then leave in a hurry. Once they're gone Augusta lets out a heavy sigh.

"Luce was harsh, Hermione. She had no right to-"

"No," Hermione sniffles slightly due to the cold, "She does. She's right. It was stupid of me to be so vague. It's the only reason why I'm having so much trouble.

"Who's the author?" Aggie changes the subject, for which Hermione is grateful.

"Erm… Cadmus Peverell."

"_Really_?" She gasps, "_Peverell_?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Of course not, he died _years _ago… Have you never heard of him? He's in the tale of the three brothers…"

"I've never heard it," Hermione mutters.

"_Never_? But that's one of the best tales from Beedle the Bard. My Mum used to read it to me all the time. I prefer Babbity Rabbity myself, but-"

"Aggie," Hermione cuts in, "I'm a muggle-born, remember? My bedtime stories were Cinderella or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs."

"Cinderella's an odd name," She grimaces.

"What role does Cadmus Peverell play, then? In the tale of the three brothers?"

"Well, basically these three brothers manage to cheat death, but death is smarter so he proclaims that he is rewarding them when their rewards will in fact result in their deaths. The first brother – Antioch Peverell – asked for a wand more powerful than any, the second brother – Cadmus Peverell – asked for a stone that would humiliate death further by allowing him to speak to the dead, and the third brother – Ignotus Peverell – asked for a cloak of invisibility. He was the only brother who had a long life, because the cloak hid him from death."

"How did Cadmus die?"

"He used the stone to resurrect his dead fiancée, but it didn't _really_ resurrect her – instead she appeared in a non-corporeal form. She became sad because she wasn't really in the world anymore, so Cadmus killed himself to be with her."

"Lovely," Hermione says sarcastically. "But obviously that is just a tale. They must have required those objects in a different way."

"Yeah, my Mum believes in them. They're called the Deathly Hallows – the wand, the stone and the cloak. They make you the master of death, if you can find all three. She thinks that they were just really powerful wizards who created the objects themselves, which makes a lot of sense if Cadmus has stored some of his magic in both volumes. It takes power to do that."

"And stupidity."

"Well he has wrote a book on time travel," Augusta rolls her eyes, "I wonder if he ever used it."

"I'm sure he did… What for, however, I have no clue."

They head back inside, after that, deciding that sitting in front of the warm Gryffindor fireplace is a stack better than the heating charm Hermione has cast. Whilst there they do their Ancient Runes homework and then crack on with their essay for Care for Magical Creatures; by the time they've finished that it is time for dinner, so the girls follow their house downstairs to the Great Hall. Hermione is halfway through her meal when she is reminded of what happened with Tom in the Room of Requirement. He has been acting very odd, lately. Like that time he was suddenly infuriated at her in Potions, and then jumping away from her as though electrocuted earlier on… But before that he had stood so close. And in Potions there was a moment… She glances over at the Slytherin table and her eyes instantly meet his once more. Suddenly, two and two click together. Like two puzzle pieces. Her eyes widen slightly and her face pales. Tom hurriedly looks away.

_He cares about me._


	8. Amortentia

It is Tom's turn to patrol the hallways, tonight, so as soon as curfew strikes he tells wandering students to get to their common rooms. Once all who are not prefects or professors are tucked away in their respective domains, the castle is drenched in a silence that would usually please the Head Boy. A thick fog has settled outside, plunging _everything_ in to a relentless darkness that even the glow of what should be a half-moon cannot penetrate. If it were not for the burning torches hung on the walls then he would be able to see nothing at all. Most would hate this darkness, but Tom finds himself gazing out of one of the tall windows, examining it with admiration. Fascinated.

The last time he had seen a night like this had been during his final year at muggle school. He does not allow himself to dwell on such crude thoughts often, but memories seem to creep up on him now-and-again. Memories like this are constant reminders of something that he wants to forget – his filthy heritage. On that particular night he had snuck out of his room as he had heard the familiar hiss of a snake. It called out to him, and who would he be to refuse such fascinating creatures? As an eleven-year-old boy he had crept from his bedroom and down the stairs. But it was so _dark_ – not even the moon shone through the frosted windows of Wool's Orphanage. He was never a fan of the unknown, but he was not afraid.

Then, a light suddenly flickered on. Only it wasn't a light. This was too white to be something muggle-made. As a young boy he had been mesmerised by the glowing orb hovering in the hand before him. The girl with untameable brown hair and chocolate eyes to match had gasped in surprise at his sudden appearance, but he showed no signs of being shocked upon meeting her. Instead, he lifted what was a stubby finger to the light and attempted to touch it, but his finger went straight through it.

"_How did you do that_?" He had wondered.

"_I did it the way you attacked that girl in the playground the other day. Margaret Finch_."

"_She deserved it_," He had huffed.

"_Nobody deserves to have invisible ropes tied around their necks, Tom. It was mean_."

"_She made me angry. She always calls us freaks. I don't get why you never did anything about it._"

Oh, even then Hermione had shown a deep-rooted care for others, no matter how cruel they were to her. He forgets himself and what has really happened as he, once again, loses himself in thought over the girl. Since childhood her hair as become much more tameable, although it still has a messier look than the other girls, yet he thinks it suits her far better than their dead-straight hairstyles would. Her face has become more structured, too, in contrast to how round it had once been. Her body has undoubtedly changed, as well. He is a man, after all. Mudblood or not he can appreciate a female form. It is certainly something she ought to be proud of, but she instead hides it under baggier clothing than the other girls. He shakes his head, smirking slightly at her prudence.

_Hermione, Hermione, Hermione_.

He suddenly sneers as he recollects himself. She is _all_ he bloody thinks about, thanks to her time travel stunt! Memories of them as children plague his mind, attacking his defences, weakening him until he is slipping up in front of her. What had transpired in the Room of Requirement yesterday had been humiliating to say the least; and that moment of realization that had so obviously hit her in the Great Hall had been absolutely preposterous. He wouldn't have _believed_ it if you'd have told him this would happen a few months ago. He has never felt these things before; at least, not in his other life. His _real_ life. The two separate memories keep confusing him, and Lord Voldemort is _never_ one to take nicely to confusion, with straight O's in every examination he has taken so far he is not exactly prone to it, either. So _why_ is he acting as though he has been placed under the Confundus charm? _Why_ is this silly little mudblood causing him to… To… He cannot even bare to think the word.

Sweet Salazar, how her appearance in his time has sent him in to turmoil; although he still battles on with his plan on discovering the whereabouts of a Ravenclaw artefact worthy of his powers, this no longer _consumes_ him. Of course it still matters most – power will _always_ matter most – but those things that are out of his control have succeeded in playing a bigger role in his life, lately. Something that would not matter if it were anyone else, but this is the great Lord Voldemort, and power has _always_ been his one true desire.

So, what should he do about her? If it were any other girl he would seduce them, but _any other girl_ could not possibly make him feel this way, and merely seducing her seems pathetic. Weak. Hermione Granger, although a mudblood, is not a toy, and attempting to use her as one would be the equivalent to handing a blade to an infant. Plus, these moronic feelings he has towards her will not allow a simple seduction. They desire something stronger. Emotional control; something that roots itself. If he wanted control of her body he could _imperio_ her, but what he truly wants is to unlock that mind full of mysteries. She knows so, _so_ much more than he does about things that he does not understand – it infuriates and mesmerises him at the same time. That look she gets in her eyes when she reprimands him for asking for information on what is to come – it makes him want to attack her and hold her at the same time.

_I'm on the brink of insanity_.

Such conflicting thoughts and feelings. Battles are usually easily-won, but this one is stubborn. Like himself. Like Hermione. Two sides of a coin that, despite their differences, refuse to part one another. Heads or tails? He cannot decide. It is a question he has been debating for far too long, yet he is nowhere near closer to the answer. He craves her knowledge, he craves power, he wants control of the world and he wants control over her. Sometimes, when his mind is too clouded, they both become the same thing. Blend in to one. He is in control of the Wizarding world and she is there, by his side. His Dark Mistress in billowing black robes, staring down at _his_ people, smirking, drunk with power. Clinging to his arm with a look of pride and glory.

_But she is a mudblood_.

This knowledge has him wanting to tear the foolish girl apart. How dare she wheedle her way in to his deepest, darkest desires with a load of false memories? How _dare_ she, when she is nothing but a pathetic little mudblood – one that has somehow gained more magical prowess than any of his pure-blooded knights? How did a worthless mudblood achieve such a thing? Since when has it been deemed appropriate for a mudblood to be more powerful than a pureblood; someone who has had magical abilities passed down to them from generation to generation?

_But just imagine what it would be like to have such power by your side_, a power-hungry voice says, and as he does as it says a sadistic smirk tugs at his lips. Breaking down that stubbornness within her will take great effort, but he is yet to find a challenge that he cannot finish successfully. And when he is in power no one will have time to judge him for his choice in a mistress, because the mere sound of his name will strike fear in to their hearts, and if anyone _dared_ to challenge her she will be powerful enough to prove _why _he has chosen her out of many.

But before any of this can be brought to reality, he has to dispel her of whatever it is she feels for Alphard Black. Really, he has no understanding for her infatuation with _him_; Black is nothing more than another of his pawns. The real power lies in Riddle's hands, so why on _Earth_ is she wasting her time with someone unworthy of it? Power and power equal greater power, so why does she not crave Riddle the way Riddle yearns for her? He shakes his head slightly, as if to rid himself of these thoughts, and focuses his mind on other matters. Besides, now he has turned his diary and his ring in to a Horcrux he must discover what a worthy trophy from Rowena Ravenclaw would be. He knows of Hufflepuff's cup, he just has to find it. But he is yet to discover something from Ravenclaw worth his effort…

~x~

"… Today we will be focusing on yet another advanced potion," Slughorn explains. The students of his seventh-year class are gathered around the front once more, staring curiously at the simmering cauldron that he had apparently prepared earlier that day. "This one is called _Amortentia_. Does anybody know what it is?" A numerous amount of hands fly in the air, but Slughorn's eyes go straight to Tom, "Mr Riddle?"

"Amortentia is a very potent love potion and is rumoured to be the most powerful of them all. Considering that one cannot recreate the feelings of love, the potion merely produces a very powerful infatuation in the consumer for the one who had given them the concoction. Due to an infatuation being an overwhelming and short-lived emotion, however, one must continue giving the potion to the drinker unless they want the side-affects to wear off."

"Very good! Take ten points for Slytherin. Now, I am going to scoop some of the potion in to vials and I want each of you, in your seated pairings, to pick apart the potion. What does it smell like? How does it look? What is its pattern of movement? We will be brewing this potion next week, so I expect you to purchase the required ingredients whilst on your trip to Hogsmeade—Now, don't look at me like _that_ Mr Davis, we cannot provide _all_ of your ingredients. You've been purchasing your own since first year so I don't see why…" Once Hermione has taken her vial from Professor Slughorn she makes her way over to her seat, where Tom is already setting up a small stand to sit the vial in. She hands him it and, as he sets it up, she pulls out some parchment and dips her quill in to the ink.

"Amortentia is rumoured to smell like the things its consumer likes," Riddle says, meeting her eyes as he pushes the stand closer to her. "Why don't you go first?"

Hermione has already made Amortentia in her nineties 6th year class, but perhaps it had been classed as more difficult during the forties? She leans over, expecting to inhale the scents of grass, old parchment, spearmint toothpaste and Ron Weasley's hair… But it's changed. The scents of grass, parchment and Ron are all there, but the spearmint toothpaste has been replaced… This particular scent is positively delicious. Her mouth waters. She recognizes it, but from where…?

_Smells like: Grass and parchment_, she decides to write. Hermione can feel Riddle watching her, and when he reads what she has wrote he _tsks_.

"Well, if you think mine are so lousy, why don't you see what _you_ smell?" She folds her arms over her chest and watches him with an expectant expression. Tom grins at her and then leans over to take a long breath. _God, it smells divine_. The familiar scent of his ancestors Chamber of Secrets has his mouth watering; he can also smell fire, as though a building is suddenly collapsing under the attack of billowing flames. And there, buried behind the two scents that give him an overwhelming sense of power, is a sweeter, kinder scent. It promises peace after destruction; it is the scent of a man's wife after a long, hard day's work. Hermione Granger's perfume. His daydream from last night flits back in to his mind – his almighty mudblood standing by his side whilst the Wizarding world bows down to him as their ruler.

"Well?"

Tom's eyes snap open, and Hermione gasps as they meet hers. They are as red as they had been in the Room of Requirement, only this time there is a deep, burning lust breaking to the surface. A part of her decides that the look is rather attractive on him – the out of control one. A ferocious blush colours not only her cheeks but her entire face and neck. _Gosh, I need to stop blushing so much. I feel as pathetic as Lavender Brown…_ As he remembers himself Hermione is surprised to see that his eyes widen slightly, as though in shock. Lord Voldemort could never do anything as silly as blush, but if he would she _swears_ that he would have turned beet red by now.

_Smells like: power._

"How can anything _possibly_ smell like _power_?" She scoffs, reading his answer over his shoulder. A possessive smirk curls up his lips which results in her backing away slightly.

"Trust me, _that_ smells just like it. It's _divine_."

"Heartless git," She mutters dryly, turning to start admiring what it looks like. Riddle merely smirks once more.

"I won't disagree with you there, Granger. Hearts are for the weak."

"Hmph, you sound like the wizard in the _Hairy Heart_ fairy tale in Beedle the Bard," Hermione says scornfully, now having read the entire book to look for anything on Cadmus Peverell.

"He had it right," Tom purses his lips as he recalls the story, "Until the end that is. His craving for the envy of everyone and everything caused him to slip up. But don't you worry that little bushy head of yours," He smiles but, like his laugh, it is not at all a friendly mannerism. In fact Hermione feels a small part of herself backing away. "I'll never be so foolish."

"But love is _never_ foolish, Tom. Actually, you're foolish for turning your back on it."

He drops his quill and turns his entire body towards her.

"How can you be so sure that I have?" He asks, raising a brow.

_Oops_.

"Well, you're making it obvious, aren't you?" She scoffs, "Talking as you do. Treating people the way you do…" And now she speaks in a quieter tone, almost whispering as she gives him a sympathetic look, "Don't do this to yourself, Tom. We've grown up together. I know you better than anyone else, and I _care_-"

She jumps as he pushes himself out of his chair. His eyes, that had been a silver sheen of humour, are now burning crimson as he grabs his schoolbag and storms out of the room with such suddenness that Hermione becomes dazed; as though she has been slapped.

"Mr Riddle? T-Tom, where are you-?" Slughorn stammers, attempting to stop him, but by the time Slughorn is halfway across the room Tom has already slammed the door shut behind him.

"Bloody hell, that's twice he's done that now. What d'you keep _doing_ to him, Gee?" Lucretia smirks sardonically, but Hermione cannot return her humour. Instead she stares at the door, being reminded of a similar occasion, only then she had been ten, and he eleven.

"_Why are you awake_?" Tom had asked, wide-eyed, changing the subject from the incident with Margaret Finch, "_Did you hear it too_?"

"_Hear what? You wondering the hallways? Of course I did, with how loud you are, and if we continue then we're going to be in trouble_!"

"_No, the snake_."

"_Snake? Tom, what're you talking—? Where are you _going?"

Despite the overwhelming urge to run back up to bed – to safety – a ten-year-old Hermione had gone against her better judgement and followed him. A strange hissing sound emitted from his mouth, sending shivers down her spine, but she still followed on. She hadn't wanted him to get hurt – she wanted to make sure that he was ok.

"_Tom, what are you doing_?"

"_Do you not hear it_?" He had asked, turning to face her.

"_You hissing—?" _

"_No, the snake._"

"_Is this really why you're out of bed? Are you trying to speak to a snake? Tom, there are no snakes here-_"

"_They find me, Hermione. They find me during the night. I thought… I thought maybe they found you, too._"

"_Tom_," She had reached out to take his hand, and he had tensed upon contact, "_Tom, you're scaring me. I don't want you looking for snakes, even if they do look for you. I do believe you, but… But I don't want you getting hurt_."

"_They don't hurt me,_" He had said coldly.

"_But they could… And I care about you, Tom._" She squeezed his hand tightly, "_I don't want you to get hurt. Please, go back to bed._"

Tom had angrily snatched his arm from her grasp and stormed away, after that; down the hallway and in to the darkness, continuing his search for that horrid snake. Hermione had taken the hint and sadly realized that she was not wanted and had gone back up to bed feeling as though she had just lost a friendship; despite the fact that one never really existed between them. It's like every time she comes close to breaking down his defences he runs. _How true to your ancestor_, she aims the thought towards him, _running from anything that could create a weakness._

"Hermione?" Augusta's voice pulls her from her thoughts. She realizes that everyone is staring at her; some have even proceeded to whisper in to one another's ears. Hermione instantly meets Slughorn's worried eyes, realizing that she cannot miss this opportunity as a plan forms in her mind.

"Sir, may I be excused?" She asks. It seems that Slughorn must want her and Tom to get on, because he looks disappointed by what has transpired.

"Of course. You may return Mr Riddle's quill and notes to him, Miss Granger."

As soon as she is out of the classroom she is running; the Gryffindor feels as though her entire body is throbbing with excitement. Tom cares about her, and that is why he keeps running – because he doesn't want to. He is afraid that if he expresses himself it will form a weak link in those defences he has spent so long putting up. But what if somebody forms a kink in those defences, before it is too late? And who else could but the girl that has known him since they were in cots? Perhaps this is the way forward. Maybe she just needs to _befriend_ him? She knows where he is. Naturally. So, when she reaches that familiar corridor on the seventh floor and asks for the door, so that she can speak with Riddle, it opens for her. Hermione is shocked that it did, upon entering, for she is stood in the room of hidden things.

"AHH!" She suddenly shrieks as she is grabbed from the side and shoved roughly in to the cold, stone wall. Her hands fumble for her wand, but the sudden wave of adrenaline rushing through her body causes her hands to shake; Riddle has already reached in to her robe pocket and tossed the Vine and Dragon wand aside before she can hex him. Hermione glances at the place where it landed and is shocked to see a familiar, white Yew and Phoenix wand lying beside it. Despite the throbbing in her head and back, Hermione manages to realize that, for the first time in Tom Riddle's life, he wants a confrontation without magic being involved.

"_Stop_ that," He snaps coldly, "I thought you'd realized before, I do not want _care_. Something like this is not _fixed_, you silly little _mudblood_. Don't give me that sympathetic look and relate me to pathetic wives tales; I thought you were smart enough to realize that this is real life. Shit happens and that is just how life is, and if you had half a mind you would _remember that_ around me!"

Hermione cannot believe that he – Tom Riddle, who is usually the most reserved and composed man she has ever met – just swore. It is this which takes the sting of that crude word away, but it angers her just enough to retort without really thinking about what she is saying.

"Stop _lying_ to me, _Tom_! We grew up together, for Godric's sake, I _know_ you!"

"BUT WE DIDN'T! WE HAVE BEEN FOOLED IN TO BELIEVING WE DID, AND NOW THESE MEMORIES ARE POISONING MY MIND! _YOU_ ARE POISONING MY-" He slams her back against the wall once more with such force that she cries out- "MIND!"

Tears pool in her eyes as the pain in her head throbs so badly that she wants to crumple to a heap on the floor. He must be positively furious, because she has never seen him use physical violence on anyone. But, then again, she has never seen him swear, either. A feint reminder of the Matron's warning enters her thoughts. She won't be too happy if Hermione is paying her yet another visit due to a concussion, so she inhales deeply a few times and hopes that the room will stop spinning. Tom's breathing is rapid as he stares at her; crimson eyed and livid. He has had just about enough of these strange emotions and yearnings for such filth. Her kind is the equivalent to house elves, in his opinion, so what makes her so damn _special_?

"I want you gone," He says, and Hermione is relieved to find that he has calmed down. "I want you to leave my time."

Hermione wants to assure him that she will and then leave this place – cure herself of this dreadful headache – but the reason for her being here returns to the forefront of her mind and, despite everything, she refuses to bow to his wish. She has to stop him. She has to weaken him. How else than to have him break those walls down for her and then watch her disappear? She shakes her head.

"I'm not leaving," She says, watching him with trepidation, "I'm not leaving you."

She had prepared herself for a furious reaction – to battle against her advances kicking and screaming until he can fight no more – but that never comes. Instead he captures her eyes in an intense gaze; his narrow slightly with curiosity and then glaze over as though lost in thought. Which he is. That blasted image is back again – the one he seems to desire more than anything. Her by his side despite the blood in her veins, powerful and brilliant and hungry for more. Feared by all. Her knowledge of the future could help him, and he would reward her greatly for it. He, being a gracious and merciful Lord, always rewards his followers, after all. And the knowledge she possesses… Well, if he could break that spell she was speaking of before then he's laughing, isn't he? And what better way to get her to talk than to gain her trust? He almost laughs at his own foolishness – he has been pushing her away when, really, he should have opened his arms to her. Surely he can keep his pathetic emotions at bay – and what is really more important here? _Feelings_ or power?

Definitely power.

"Alright; if that is what you desire."

"Really?" She asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise, "No more arguing?"

"Your wish, my command," He shrugs, but smirks sardonically as to not give her too many ideas.

"No more pointless lies about our relationship, then? You're willing to admit… Admit…"

The smirk is wiped clean from his lips, at that. Hermione's entire body feels heavy as her mind screams at her to stop what she is doing. She doesn't want this. She isn't even sure how she has managed to convince someone so dark and so powerful otherwise. She has to use every ounce of her focus to not push him away as she reaches up and slowly presses the palm of her left hand to his cheek. It's surprisingly soft, for someone so rough. His eyes are still unfathomable as he keeps them locked on hers, but she takes their silvery sheen as a 'good' sign. Slowly, whilst ignoring every nerve that screams its protests, she leans up on her tip-toes so that their lips are millimetres apart.

"If you're _sure_."

Then his lips are pressed against hers, and he is pushing her up against the wall, only this time it in desperation rather than anger. Hermione's internal protests suddenly fall silent as years of memories flood her mind. So many times they have been close to something like this but so far away and, forgetting who she really is whilst drowning in dozens upon dozens of false memories, she kisses him back with a passion equal to his own. Her hands find his hair, forming fists as she pulls him closer. Closer. She needs to be closer. His scent is positively intoxicating. _It's that unknown scent that had replaced the toothpaste_, she realizes idly, but not really caring for the time being. Right now nothing matters except Tom's lips and Tom's hands holding her waist so tight that she feels as though she cannot breathe. Or is that because he has is tongue down her throat? She can't decide. She doesn't care. All that matters is him.

~x~

"_I think part of me knew the second I saw him that this would happen. It's not really anything he said… Or anything he did, it was the feeling that came along with it…" ~ Taylor Swift, I Knew You Were Trouble._


	9. Teresa

_KhaalidaNyx, challenge accepted ;) I hope you and everyone else enjoys this chapter! I'm sorry for the wait._

"Hermione!"

It has been two weeks since Hermione and Tom had shared their first kiss, and on the outside so much has changed. Everyone was awfully surprised when they had walked in to the Great Hall the following day hand-in-hand; Tom had been amused, but Hermione felt as though the room's temperature had suddenly rose. She had tried snatching her hand away, but he just held it tighter and smiled at her discomfort.

Slughorn has been _annoyingly_ cheerful about them being 'together', though. He has arranged a Slug Club meeting for Friday evening and has even kept them back after class, telling them that they will most definitely be the next 'power couple' in the Wizarding World. Tom's eyes had lit up at that, but Hermione has a feeling that he was taking his Head of House's words too literally. That had tightened her resolve to do what she can to stop him. If he understands love he won't carry out the acts he will commit in the future, so all she has to do is get him to fall in love with her…

Easier said than done.

But, the good news is that Lucretia was right – that book has managed to get itself in to Tom's hands, and he has even proceeded to read it in front of her a few times. It seems that the words, however, only want to appear for him, because when she pretended to pay idle interest in its contents the pages were as empty as they had been the first time she had held it – the only words that show for her are _Cadmus Peverell_. This frustrates her greatly, but she is working on something that may help, although she has not told the others yet. She wants to be sure before she dives in to anything, at this point, especially because they are not too fond of plan 'Tom-sil Tennis', as Ignatius has started calling it. This, of course, in his own words, refers to her _'pretending to be a loving girlfriend to the evil and unworthy-of-love Tom Riddle, A.K.A Lord Voldemort A.K.A (on the outside of the Gryffindor common room) you-know-who.'_

And Ignatius is right, because Hermione's feelings for Tom _are_ feigned. She has a connection with him, of course, because of the fake memories that they share, but she has never wanted to go out with him or anything. He was horrid to the other children when they were growing up and he has been horrid to her, too. The thought of having a real relationship with him makes her feel sick – especially when she pictures the pale, snake-like man that he is going to become – but she knows that the best way to solve this problem is to keep her friends close and enemies closer. Besides, he fancies her, whether he realizes that or not… And despite everything I just said, the thought of the 'gorgeous' Tom Riddle liking _her_,out of _everyone_, sends tiny black butterflies swirling through her stomach. She has caught some of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls watching her resentfully as she walks down the corridors holding hands with him, and each time a blush of glee has covered her cheeks. Hermione Granger has _never_ been envied, before. It's quite flattering, in an odd way, although she would never admit it out loud. She is above teen dramas.

"Yeilah," Yeilah calls, and Hermione turns to see the black-haired Hufflepuff speed-walking towards her on the corridor; her yellow-and-black tie sways with her footsteps. "I wanted to talk to you about…" She looks around to check for Slytherins and then adds: "About _you-know-who_."

"Ok, now?" Hermione glances down the corridor that leads to the dungeons with uncertainty. She _should_ go to potions, but Yeilah may have something important to tell her; she's a smart girl and wouldn't suggest skiving a lesson for something miniscule. Hermione's future memories chide her for even _considering_ this, but her newer self knows that Slughorn won't really care. If she tells him that there was an accident after her Care for Magical Creatures class it'll be ok. He won't go asking Grubbly-Plank about it. It's not a secret that they don't exactly get on.

"Preferably, because… Well, just come along, I'll explain it all in private."

"Alright," She sighs and then rushes along after her, ducking as Peeves attempts to hit them with one of the flaming torches that are usually kept in stands on the school's walls. Once they've escaped his mischievous attack they head further up in to the castle until they reach the sixth floor, where there is an entire block of empty classrooms. Hermione remembers reading about this in _Hogwarts: A History_. There used to be around one-hundred people in each year at the school, but after the muggles attempted to wipe out all witches and wizards those numbers were obviously cut. Due to this the school only needs one or two teachers at the most for each subject, which has resulted in classrooms that used to bustle with life to remain cold, dank and empty. Upon entering one the stench of rotten wood and damp fills the air, causing Hermione to crinkle her nose in distaste.

"Lovely choice of meeting places, Yeilah."

"Oh shush, this is all I could think of."

Hermione notices for the first time that they are not alone. Her brown eyes scan the classroom and eventually land on a girl with thin, mousy brown hair and big hazel eyes. She keeps wringing her hands and admires Hermione with trepidation, and stands as though ready to flee at a moment's notice. Something about the girl stood in front of her has Hermione feeling _extremely_ guilty, but why?

"'Mione… This is Teresa Bruckshanks. Teresa, this is-"

"Hermione Granger," The girl squeaks, "Y-Yes. I know. We have Transfiguration together."

Hermione does not recall _ever_ seeing this girl in Transfiguration, but she nods her head as though she does. The girl's eyes seem to brighten ever-so-slightly at this, which does nothing but twist the blade of guilt piercing her chest deeper. What is making her feel this way?

"What… Why are we here?" She asks in an attempt to distract herself from that horrible feeling.

"I told you about Teresa, remember? She's the Ravenclaw that I said would help us."

"Oh! Yes, of course."

"We got Dumbledore to…" When Yeilah physically cannot finish that sentence Hermione fills in _become the secret keeper_, "So I thought that Teresa could explain why she'll help."

The Gryffindor's eyes land on the Ravenclaw's once more, who is now wringing her hands even faster than before. Hermione feels like telling her to go somewhere she feels more comfortable but, unfortunately, the information that this girl possesses may help in the end.

"I-In second year I liked Tom," She almost whispers, her eyes wider than ever, "People don't usually notice me, though. I'm not really talkative. But he noticed me," Her cheeks turn pink, "He said he liked me and I was so happy. But it was all one big lie; all because he knew that my dad worked on Knockturn Alley. He wanted something…"

"What did he want?"

"A locket. He said it was big and gold, and it had an amber stone and an S on it. He said it belonged to an ancestor and he really needed to find it, a-and I wanted to help, so I went with my Dad to work and looked for it, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I asked Mr Burke-"

"Wait," Hermione holds up a hand to stop the girl, "Your father works at Borgin and Burkes?"

"Y-yes, he owns part of it. I barely ever see him, though. He's not much of a dad. In fact I didn't even take on his last name because my mum wanted me to have nothing to do with him… But you're not interested in that." The abruptness of that comment has Hermione's cheeks burning in shame.

"Sorry, y-yes I am, carry on."

"So, I asked about the locket and he told me he'd sold it to a wealthy woman. I went through the records and found that somebody called Hepzibah Smith had bought it. So I told Tom, and the next day he just stopped talking to me. He's never even looked at me since…"

Teresa's eyes are glistening with unshed tears. This girl really is a poor sight; Hermione feels that blade of guilt twist just a little bit more as she silently curses Tom. How could someone be so cruel as to manipulate such a vulnerable girl? Oh, but of course, he is going to become Lord Voldemort. She had almost forgotten…

That snaps her out of it.

"Teresa, thank you so much," Hermione says with a polite smile, "You've been a big help… But I don't know if you're capable of helping us. I don't want you to get upset again-"

"Oh, please, Hermione. I want to help. I want my own back on him."

She knows that this could prove to be disastrous; allowing someone who was once emotionally attached to help. But there is something about this mouse of a girl that Hermione sympathises with. Besides, how better to get back at him than this? The ultimate betrayal.

"Alright then, but we'll have to take you to Dumbledore. Leave your common room an hour before curfew and meet us by the Fat Lady portrait. I'll ask the Professor to meet us."

"Where were you during Potions?"

Tom's voice has Hermione turning away from her rather delicious dinner to see that he is stepping over the bench to take a seat beside her… At the Gryffindor table. They are getting strange looks not only from the Gryffs and the Snakes but the 'Puffs and the 'Claws, too. Hermione narrows her eyes at him, feeling slightly irritated at his lack of concern for what others think.

"My head was troubling me again. I went up to the infirmary… Why?" She smirks, "Did you miss me?"

"Oh, of course," He replies with a roll of his eyes before reaching out to scoop some mash potato on to his place. Hermione grabs his hand before he can.

"What are you doing?" She demands.

"Well, _dear_, at dinner people tend to _eat_."

"Yes, _darling_, but Slytherins tend to eat at the _Slytherin table_."

"Does it state that I cannot eat here?" Hermione thinks back to her copy of _Hogwarts: A History _and then shakes her head as she realizes that it doesn't, "Well then."

"Tom, you can't eat here! People are _staring-_"

"Used to it," He replies with a shrug.

"Don't be so arrogant," She snaps, but this does nothing but amuse him further. In the end she sulkily accepts that he is going nowhere and carries on eating, praying that her housemates will stop staring soon…

"Have you completed your Potions essay yet?"

He chuckles as she remains silent.

"Oh, the silent treatment? We'll see how long that lasts…"

That just makes her more determined to _not_ speak with him.

After dinner is over they have three and a half hours until curfew; Hermione wishes that it was sooner, because she really doesn't want to spend any more time than she needs to with Tom, but to keep the pretence up she knows that she has to. So, rather than heading up to the common room with her friends she allows Tom to walk with her through the darkening hallways until there is no one around. She knows where they are going as soon as they pass the Bloody Baron; the Astronomy tower. Usually this is off-limits unless a lesson is going on, but being the head boy gives Tom the ability to get out of trouble when needs be. Once they reach the top Hermione releases his hand and walks over to the balcony; resting her weight on her hands as she admires the setting sun.

"I like it up here," Tom whispers, shocking her with his sudden closeness. His lean arms snake around her waist as his lips pause beside her left ear, "It's peaceful… And seeing as you're not speaking to me I thought I'd bring you up here. I'll be able to enjoy the quiet."

"And if I've decided I'm speaking to you again?" She whispers, turning slightly so she can look in to his eyes. He is smirking brilliantly.

"Then I've won."

Realization dawns upon her and her expression must be amusing because Tom laughs before falling to the ground, lying down on the cold, stone slabs below their feet. Hermione returns her attention to the scenery before them as her mind wanders off to the happenings of earlier on. She wonders if he ever brought Teresa up here. How many girls has he used to get what he wants? Is he using her too? Hermione knows that the last thought shouldn't bother her, but she finds that it does. Yet isn't she doing exactly what she doesn't want him to be doing? Is she not just as bad?

"Do you hide away up here often?" She asks.

"No. I usually come up here when everyone is at the Quidditch pitch, or the library. It depends on how much homework I've received."

"Don't you _ever_ attend Quidditch games?"

"No," He raises his eyebrows whilst propping himself up by his elbows, "Do you?"

"Har—I mean, my friends force me to go. They are on the team, after all."

"I wouldn't know. I don't care much for sports. They are pointless."

"Not completely," Hermione shakes her head, "Perhaps to you but not to them."

"Pointless," He repeats, smirking ever-so-slightly as she glares at him. She just rolls her eyes after noticing that and falls to lay beside him.

"Do you just enjoy irritating me?" She asks, feigning tiredness.

"Of course I do, my fiery little Gryffindor."

"Tom."

"Yes?"

"If you ever call me that again I will _kill you_."

When Hermione finally does make it back to the Fat Lady portrait Teresa is already waiting outside, so Hermione calls out the password and allows her to enter. Dumbledore is already sat in front of the fireplace.

"Good evening," He says; blue eyes twinkling as he smiles warmly at them.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Teresa replies. Hermione notices that, as soon as she sees Dumbledore, her shoulders slacken slightly. In fact, her entire body seems to relax. Another pang of sympathy hits her: The only person that this poor girl feels comfortable around is their Transfigurations teacher.

As Dumbledore explains everything to her, Hermione finds herself wishing that she could take Teresa's pains away. What was it that she left out of that story? Tom _must_ have done something else to her to make her this timid and distrusting. And all for a locket? What makes this locket special enough for Tom to destroy this girl's confidence? She knows that she should not care so much, and that she should focus on the bigger problems at hand, but Teresa literally has nothing to her and Hermione finds it one of the most heart breaking sights she has ever seen.

"Thank you for letting me in on the secret, Hermione," The Ravenclaw says as they stand at the doorway of the Gryffindor common room. She seems to have some more brightness to her eyes, now that she's conversed with Dumbledore, "I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you, Teresa," Hermione replies, giving the girl a short hug, "Thank you for telling me about what happened with you… I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow," She whispers, climbing out of the paintings doorway, "Have a good night."

"You too; and be careful on your way back to your common room!"

"I will be!"

"She will appreciate this more than you can imagine," Dumbledore murmurs as Hermione comes back in to the light of the fireplace.

"What did Tom do to her? To make her act this way, I mean?"

"I am afraid that is not my tale to tell, Miss Granger. But I do believe with time Miss Bruckshanks may just tell you herself. Please do continue to show her kindness, it really is a shame to see someone so lovely go without friendship."

"I will," Hermione promises, and then glances at the girl's staircase. Dumbledore sees this and stands, realizing that it really is time for bed.

"I do think it is time we settled in for the night, don't you?" Hermione nods and the Professor smiles, "Sweet dreams, Miss Granger."

"Goodnight."

No one hears the screams that pierce a particular area of the castle, that night.


End file.
